TPDoEQ, vol IV: Only in America
by Lady Norbert
Summary: The League heads for America and the hometown of Tom Sawyer. Along the way they go to a ball, somebody's heart gets broken, somebody gets blackmailed, somebody gets his life threatened, and there's a wedding nobody wants to see.
1. Temptations and Truths

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** Greetings to readers new and old! I hope you're enjoying the series, whether you're reading it for the first time or revisiting it like an old friend. This volume should have plenty to surprise, interest, and maybe even delight you. There's going to be all sorts of crazy stuff happening, and remarkably, Elizabeth actually manages _not_ to almost get herself killed.

This volume is going to be very unusual in another manner. For the first time, you, the readers, get to see what Skinner is thinking and doing at given points throughout, in a companion edition written from his point of view. Skinner doesn't keep a diary, of course, but the alternate version will be what his would look like if he did. The reason for this is that he and Elizabeth will be spending a fair amount of time apart during this volume, and a lot of things will happen for which she won't be there. In order to give the readers a complete picture of what the heck is going on, I think it's necessary for you to see Skinner's version of the events, so do be sure to read it once you've finished with this..

Also, this volume will be different because each chapter is dedicated to a different person. This first chapter is dedicated to Teri the Wonder Beta, my friend who helped to edit a large chunk of the series, with thanks for all her help; Tom's new nickname for Elizabeth and the business about the rabid gerbil are included especially for her.

As usual: If you recognize it (except for Elizabeth, whom I think you all recognize by now), I don't own it. On with the show!

* * *

_20 March 1900_

We continue our progress back up the Amazon to the basin. Tomorrow we should be crossing the border out of Peru and into Brazil.

The rainy season is concluding, meaning that we are able to spend a bit more time up on the deck than we have been. This has been good for observing wildlife; this afternoon I spotted a Brazilian tapir roaming through the trees. We also observed several monkeys and a rabid gerbil. I don't know what a rabid gerbil would be doing in the Amazon, but Skinner swears that's what it was. Indeed, he had Tom and myself laughing to the point of tears with his insistence; he proceeded to tell us at great length about the gerbil's sorry life history and how it came to dwell in the Amazon. His ability to invent such wild fantasies on the spur of the moment fascinates me, and is a source of great relief on the days which keep us below deck.

* * *

_21 March 1900_

Today was remarkable only in the sense that we celebrated Tom's twenty-first birthday with a cake following dinner. There is something entirely appropriate about his having been born on the first day of spring. But now that we are no longer the same age (not for another six months), he seems to find it amusing to refer to me as his "little" sister. I'm pleased, of course, that he seems to like the fact that I regard him as my surrogate brother, but I'm about as enamoured of being addressed as his little sister as I was when Rodney first started calling me Bess.

On the other hand, if that comparison holds true, I shall probably grow extremely fond of the title within two months' time.

* * *

_23 March 1900_

We should reach the basin in another three days, I am told.

Last night I went stargazing. It was fantastic. I remembered learning, years ago, that the constellations are different in the southern hemisphere (where we are presently) than in the northern (where I have lived all my life), and I wanted to see for myself. So around midnight, I left my room with an astronomy book I had taken from the library, went up to the deck, and just watched the sky for hours. It was gloriously clear, for a change, and there was no moon so the stars were absolutely brilliant. Everything does look different down here.

Using the book as a guide, I identified Cassiopeia, Centaurus, and the Pleiades. I could also see the Milky Way very clearly. For the most part, though, I just stood admiring the heavens, and didn't trouble myself to try to recognize too many constellations. It was overwhelmingly magnificent, and I fully intend to repeat the experience when we are out in the ocean once more.

* * *

_25 March 1900_

By this time tomorrow, we can expect to be back in the ocean and sailing north. Tom is very excited about showing us his America. We will dock in the capital city of Washington, D.C., and the rest of us will tour the vicinity while Tom reports for a few meetings with his fellow agents. He might even be meeting with the President of the United States himself. After a week in Washington, we will board a train which will carry us west to the state of Missouri, and we will spend a number of weeks visiting Tom's hometown of St. Petersburg. He has already sent a telegraph to his cousin Mary, telling her of our plans; she no longer lives in St. Petersburg, but it seems quite likely that we will get an opportunity to meet her nonetheless.

* * *

_later_

Pretending that things are the same as they've always been between Rodney and myself is sometimes not as easy as I might wish. This afternoon was a good illustration of that.

I was in the library, reading. It was quite comfortable, actually; I was curled up at one end of the longest davenport, thoroughly lost in the story. I don't know how long he was there before he decided to make his presence known.

"There you are," he said at length. "Have you been down here since lunch?"

I glanced up, startled, at the sound of his voice. Only the clothes showed me where he stood. He was leaning against the door frame, invisible hands in the pockets of his trousers, sleeves rolled back.

"What time is it?"

"Half past three." He crossed the room and sat at the other end of the davenport. "What are you reading, anyway?"

"_Sense and Sensibility."_

"Sounds sensible."

I resisted the urge to smile at this, and pretended to be interested in my book again. After a minute or so, however, the silence bothered me. "What brings you down here?"

"Hm? Oh. Nothing, really. Just a bit bored."

"So read something."

He made a funny noise, like he was resisting the idea. "Like what?"

I put my book down, thinking. "Well...let me see...I know. Have you ever read _A Tale of Two Cities_?"

"That doesn't even sound good."

"It is, honestly." I went to the shelves and, after a moment's searching, found the title. "Here, try it." Feeling suddenly impish, I added, "You might like it. There's a character, Sydney Carton, who's extremely shady but very honourable underneath. Reminds me of someone I know."

He gave a snort for a reply, but - whether out of curiosity or merely to humour me, I do not know - he opened the book and began turning the pages. Satisfied, I sat down and resumed commiserating with poor Elinor Dashwood.

Things were very quiet and comfortable for the next ten minutes or so. Now and then one or the other of us would turn a page, but otherwise, the room was still.

And then he snored.

The noise, though not terribly loud, came so unexpectedly that I dropped my book in surprise. I looked over and saw that he had slightly stretched himself out, the Dickens volume about to fall on the floor, and had plainly fallen asleep. I was torn between disappointment and amusement, for I really thought he might like reading about Sydney Carton, but I know well that the opening chapter is a bit dry. I retrieved my own book and set it aside, then got up to collect his from where it dangled in his hand.

As I bent so close to him, however, a rather dangerous thought entered my mind. I could not see his head, but when I moved to take the book from him, his breath swept over my face, and I realized our faces must be only a little way apart. The audacity of the thought which followed this one - that I would only need to turn my head and move a tiny bit closer - utterly paralysed me, and for a few seconds I stood frozen, shocked at my own mental impropriety.

Somehow I managed to take the book from him and move myself away, back to the shelves to return it to its place. I could not have allowed action to follow thought - and yet, even now I wonder what would have happened if I had.

In any case, when I turned back after putting the book away, he had rolled over and was facing the back of the davenport. I was possessed by conflicting thoughts for a second time. I didn't wish to disturb him by returning to my place on the same piece of furniture, but I also (and I admit this reluctantly) had no desire to leave. On this matter I allowed myself a compromise; I took my book and relocated to another chair, not far from the davenport, and there I continued reading until teatime.

As to the book I had chosen, I had never occasioned to read _Sense and Sensibility_ before today. It was an appealing story, and I found myself sympathizing not only with Elinor, but also with her friend, the estimable Colonel Brandon. Elinor is in love with Edward, a fine young man who is regrettably affianced to someone else, and Colonel Brandon is in love with Elinor's sister Marianne, whose affections are elsewhere engaged for much of the novel. Brandon's plight, in some respects, moved me even more than Elinor's; though his love for Marianne is genuine and honourable, he is willing to stand by and watch her marry the man she loves, valuing her happiness over his own.

* * *

_27 March 1900_

Out of the Amazon, and back into the Atlantic Ocean. More and more I come to think of the sea as home. I have really grown to understand Nemo's love for this ship and his nautical lifestyle. When I consider how I spend my days in total leisure - sailing the world, indulging my tastes in literature and study, pursuing whatever manner of occupation pleases me best at any given moment - I feel like a princess in a moving castle. No other girl in the world is as thoroughly privileged and indulged as I am, and I am inexpressibly grateful to my guardian. Indeed, I have spent more time in Nemo's company in the last several months than I spent with Father in my entire life, and so I suppose it is only to be expected that in some respects, I have actually grown fonder of the captain than I was of my natural parent.

We will submerge tomorrow morning, so tonight is my last opportunity to go out and look at the southern sky. I mentioned it at luncheon, but I do not think any of my companions are particularly interested in joining me; Nemo has seen it before, and the others do not seem inclined to stay up that late.

* * *

_28 March 1900_

I was wrong about no one joining me on the deck last night, though initially I was alone. I had been out for perhaps twenty minutes when I heard the door open.

I admit I was surprised to see Tom. He flashed me a grin as he crossed the deck to where I stood. "You were right, this was worth staying up for," he said, looking at the stars. "Man, that's pretty."

"It's so different from what we're both used to," I observed. We leaned against the rail, saying nothing. The night around us was inky and dark and cool. Suddenly, one of the stars fell out of position.

"A shooting star! I don't believe I've ever seen one before!"

"Make a wish," said Tom.

"I have, for all the good it does me."

"What?"

I flushed, realizing what I'd said. "I mean, really, what do I have left to wish for? I have everything in the world I could possibly want, right here on this submarine."

He cast a sidelong glance in my direction. "Yeah, I guess you do. I just didn't think you knew it."

I kept my eyes firmly on the stars, refusing to voice the question that was begging to be asked. "Of course I know it. Who could fail to notice when everything they ever wanted was placed in their hands?"

"Hmm."

We stayed silent for a time. At length I said, "I am looking forward to visiting your America. Are you glad to be going home?"

He folded his arms on the rail, rested his chin on them, and gave me a little smile. "I'm home right now, li'l sis. Same as you."

"About this little sister business, Tom..."

"What? You're the one who started it."

"Well, yes, I suppose that's true."

"And you _are_ little. I'm a full head taller'n you."

"Granted, but..."

"Besides, Skinner calls you Bess all the time and you don't complain. 'Course, I've heard you call him Rodney now and then, so I guess you're even."

"That's different."

"Yeah, I know."

I suddenly noticed I was clutching the railing rather tightly. I had not said anything particularly revealing, but the tone of voice in which he said "I know" made me think that, quite possibly, he does. A gentleman to the last, however, he did not press the issue, for which I was most appreciative.

"Oh, if you want to call me that, I suppose I don't really mind it." I smiled at him. "It sounds better coming out of your mouth than it did coming out of de Gaulle's."

He frowned for a minute, apparently not placing the name. Then he grimaced. "Geez, Elizabeth, I didn't know he called you that."

"Only once."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No, really, Tom, it's all right." I patted his arm. "I've had a lot of time to think it over, and there is nothing in the world that will ever convince me he was my father's son. But as far as I am concerned, and in all the ways that really matter, _you _were."

The anxiety left his face then, and in a truly brotherly gesture, he put his arm across my shoulders. I leaned against him a bit, and we watched the stars together.


	2. Tarnished Silver

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to Jessica, my best friend in the entire world, with much love.

* * *

_30 March 1900_

In anticipation of our impending arrival in Washington, D.C., where we should be disembarking sometime tomorrow afternoon, I have done some reading about the city. I confess I've always had a lingering curiosity about America, and perhaps now some of that curiosity will be satiated.

The design for the city was drawn up a little more than a century ago by Major Pierre L'Enfant. The first American President, George Washington, announced that a tract of land had been specially set aside by Congress (which is like the American version of the Houses of Parliament, as I understand it) for the creation of a national capital city. It is roughly diamond-shaped and stretches between the Potomac River and the Eastern Branch River. Major L'Enfant had become friends with President Washington during the Revolutionary War, and he was given the honour of designing the new city. His plan included wide streets to be lined with trees, one named after each state in the United States, and he intended there to be statues and memorials erected to prominent and worthy citizens. Two immense buildings were to be the main focus of the city, from which these streets would branch off; these were the home of Congress and the Executive Mansion, which I am told they call the "White House."

I grant you that it _is_ white, but the name seems a little obvious.

The current President, William McKinley, is overseeing a new movement within the city to devise a system of parks. This is supposed to be part of America's observation of the city's hundredth birthday, but it is as yet incomplete.

It is to President McKinley that Tom will be reporting while the rest of us are sightseeing on the afternoon of 2 April. We will continue to use the _Nautilus_ for our lodging, keeping it docked securely in the depths of the Potomac; when we leave the city for Missouri, the submarine will return to sea until we come back.

* * *

_1 April 1900_

Washington is beautiful!

It is, to be sure, a very busy, bustling city. But so many white buildings, so many trees, and ever so much to see and explore - will a week be long enough?

It was past teatime when we reached the city; indeed, the sun was well on its way down, so we had little opportunity for more than a bird's-eye view from the upper levels of the deck. Tomorrow following luncheon, Tom will report to the Secret Service and the President, while the rest of us tour the city in hansom cabs. He will join us for sightseeing the day after, and we can actually visit some of the buildings over the course of a few days. I am much interested to see their so-called Library of Congress, said to be one of the largest libraries in the world, and also a museum called the Smithsonian, which is said to be like no other.

* * *

_2 April 1900_

Up close, Washington is even lovelier.

After Tom departed for his meeting, the rest of us boarded a pair of hansom cabs. The Jekylls and I rode in one, Nemo and Skinner in the second, and in this fashion we toured the streets of the city. Many of the buildings are magnificent, particularly those faced in marble, such as the Capitol Building (where Congress meets) and the White House.

We did not stop much, but one building which we did pause to visit was the memorial to George Washington, which is an obelisk of granite and marble standing more than five hundred feet tall. Fortunately, it is equipped with a lift, so we were spared the exertion of climbing the hundreds of stairs to the little room at the top. From there, four windows allow you to view this remarkable city in all directions, and the scenery is extraordinary.

Tom rejoined us in time for the evening meal. Apparently, the President and the head of the Secret Service are satisfied with his report and his accomplishments of the past year. From what he told us, he did tell them about visiting Egypt and meeting Dr. Howard Carter, but wisely left out all references to the vampire encounter. Of Machu Picchu he said nothing, in accordance with our decision to keep the discovery quiet. He remains an agent of the Secret Service, but by and large he is free to pursue his own plans.

* * *

_3 April 1900_

Today we visited "the castle," as some people refer to the Smithsonian Museum. What a beautiful building that is! In this city of white structures, it stands out, being made of red-hued sandstone. It really does look like a castle. It was named after an English scientist, James Smithson; he was a son of the Duke of Northumberland who willed his entire fortune to the United States. It was his wish that they use his money to create "an establishment for the increase and diffusion of Knowledge among men." They have certainly done well by his bequest.

I would write more, but I am frightfully tired.

* * *

_5 April 1900_

There has been little enough time, or energy on my part, to write of all we have been seeing and doing. Yesterday we visited the United States Capitol building. It is a marvellous, magnificent structure, though it looks almost nothing today as it did when it was first built. It has been reconstructed on a number of occasions, such as when the British soldiers set fire to it during the War of 1812. Another, later fire cost them several thousand books held in their library, which was part of the reason for the construction of a separate home for the Library of Congress.

But the Capitol itself is quite fine. One wing holds the part of Congress called the House of Representatives, and the other wing holds what is called the Senate. (Unlike our Houses of Lords and Commons, there seems to be little difference between these two bodies of legislature in terms of political or noble standing.) In the middle, where the two wings are joined, there is a great marble dome. Flights of elegant stairs run up and down the outside of the building, and people from all around the world swarm over the stairs every day.

Today we did no sightseeing, as it has rained throughout the afternoon. Tomorrow, however, we have a real treat in store for us; we are going to tour the White House!

* * *

_6 April 1900_

It is early; we have only just finished breakfast. We shall soon leave for the White House, but I wanted to take a moment to note something terrible which has happened.

It would seem that England's own "Bertie," our jolly Prince of Wales, is visiting the country of Belgium. Yesterday, in the city of Brussels, a young man attempted to assassinate our future King! He claimed he did it because of what has been happening in South Africa. He fired twice on the Prince, but we may praise God that both shots missed their target. I am given to understand that the Prince is quite well and the would-be assassin is in the hands of the authorities.

* * *

_later_

Oh, how _can_ things have gone so dreadfully wrong! And after so many enjoyable days in this lovely city, too. I must start at the beginning, however, and write down all I can remember, for it may be of use.

We arrived at the White House and joined the parade of people who were lining up to go through the North Entrance. It was still rather early, so we did not have to wait terribly long. Just inside we viewed the exquisite stained glass curtain, designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany, which separates the entranceway from what is known as the Cross Hall.

I do not remember in which order we visited the rooms. Would that I could recall! It might be important! But I will describe what rooms I can remember.

Many of the public rooms in the White House, much like the structure itself, are known simply by their dominant colour. One of the prettiest, in my estimation, was the Blue Room. President Chester Arthur was married in this room, in 1886. Another is the Red Room, one of several which were redecorated by Louis Tiffany. It stands out in my mind for the wonderful cherry mantel and the ceiling, patterned in gold and copper stars.

But the State Dining Room, which was our last stop on the tour, I can see most clearly in my mind. This too was redone by Tiffany, who painted the walls in different shades of yellow and highlighted these with silver tones. The walls alone are exceptional. In this dining room is a mahogany table, which - when not being used for formal dinners - is laid out with a portion of a stunning silverware collection. The gilt silver was purchased from France in 1817 by President James Monroe.

Our visitors group consisted not only of myself and my friends, but a small handful of other people and, of course, our tour guide. The guide was a young man, perhaps two or three years older than myself, and in between his lectures in the different rooms he fell into a habit of walking and talking with me. I, personally, found this tolerably amusing (though a certain other gentleman was less amused), and I saw no harm in chatting with him when he was not doing his specific duty. His name was Richard, and after each of his little speeches he invited us to view whichever room we occupied at our leisure, during which he would walk around and point out little details and specific items. He was well-mannered and full of interesting information, so I was actually rather enjoying his company, even if we were not introduced in an entirely proper way.

After our visit to the State Dining Room, Nemo caught my eye and beckoned me to where the League was collecting in the hallway just beyond the door. We had a quick discussion about our plans for luncheon, and Skinner excused himself for a few minutes - "to powder my nose," as he so delicately put it. Once he rejoined us, we followed the group back to the entrance hallway and prepared to leave by the North Entrance.

Suddenly, there were security guards swarming everywhere, and no one could enter or leave the building. I was quite flustered; Tom pulled one of the guards aside, showed him his badge, and inquired as to what was happening. The group which entered the State Dining Room after ours had made the appalling discovery that some pieces were missing from President Monroe's gilt silverware collection! The set was there in its entirety when we visited the room, so the natural assumption was that someone in our group must have been the perpetrator. We were ushered into an unused chamber for questioning.

This, in and of itself, was bad enough. But one of the guards then appeared with a clue in his hands, something which had been discovered at the scene of the crime. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for what had been found, and when he placed it on the table for all to view, I could feel the blood draining from my face.

It was a handkerchief. A white handkerchief, made of fine Egyptian linen and embroidered, in green thread, with the letters _R. S._

I knew it well. Those were my stitches.

I stared at the handkerchief, then glanced around at my friends. I quickly realized that none of the others had been aware of my gift to Skinner at Christmas - the handkerchiefs had been concealed inside the glove box of Father's which I had also given him. Only Skinner and I knew it for what it was. I met his eyes and, though of course I could not see them, I knew they must have reflected my own alarm.

"Whose is it?" demanded the guard.

I opened my mouth, ready to claim it, but he was too fast for me. "It's mine," he said hoarsely. "I must have dropped it."

I could not say, for certain, exactly what happened next. There was a great flurry of activity all around me, but it seemed like I understood none of it. My ears were ringing and I could hear nothing; I was seeing, but not comprehending what I saw. Only when I realized that the guards were taking him from the room did I fully understand what had just happened.

Skinner has been placed under arrest.

Believing that they had their man, the guards allowed the rest of us to leave. Tom went with the ones who had actually taken him into custody, which made me feel marginally better; at least he was not alone. Nemo steered the rest of us into a carriage and we returned to the _Nautilus_. No one spoke until we were safe in the stateroom, staring at the luncheon which had been prepared for us. I couldn't even think of touching food just then.

Henry broke the silence. "What do we do now?"

"We must wait," said Nemo, simply. "That is really all we can do, I'm afraid."

"But...what will happen to him?" I asked, in a voice that tried very hard to stay calm.

"He will get a taste of the American justice system, which Tom prizes so highly," Nemo replied. "If it is as just as he claims it to be, and if Skinner is innocent, then he will surely be set free."

"What - what do you mean, _if_ he is innocent?" I looked around at them. "Surely you don't think he really did this!"

They all looked slightly uncomfortable. "I don't know," said Henry with a sigh. "I really don't know what to think."

"Me neither," said Tom, coming into the room and sitting down.

"What news?" asked Mina.

"It doesn't look too good. It's all circumstantial, of course. That handkerchief's a bit damning. It doesn't help that he disappeared on us for a couple minutes just before the theft was discovered. And if he's got a record in England that they manage to hear about, it's really not going to help." He shook his head. "He's clean, though. The silver wasn't on him. And he keeps saying he didn't do it."

"Of course he didn't!" I all but snapped. Tom looked at me seriously.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Don't you?"

"I - like Henry said, I'm not sure what to think." He too looked uncomfortable. "He's our friend, but...he is a thief."

I stood up. I could not believe what I was hearing. "As you say, Tom," I said, bristling, "he _is_ our friend. What reason do we have not to trust him?"

"Elizabeth," said Mina, mildly, "we don't mistrust him. But have you considered the possibility? I think your...affection...for Skinner has you a bit blinded to what he is capable of doing."

She and I stared at each other across the table. Her expression was calm, slightly curious; I can't imagine how mine looked. "Of all the people in this room, Mina," I said in a firmly controlled tone, "I would have thought _you_ would understand."

There was silence, and I instantly regretted the words. "I beg your pardon, Henry," I added, more humbly. "I meant no offence, to you or to Edward."

"None taken," he replied. They were all looking at me with faces I could not read. Only now, as I write the scene in this diary, do I realize what they must have been thinking. Without actually saying it, I had made it very plain to them all just how much I esteem him.

Well, that cannot be helped now. Still, I do feel a bit of an idiot.


	3. Truth and Justice, the American Way

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This third chapter is dedicated to Miss Kathleen, my original minion...wherever you are.

* * *

_7 April 1900_

Skinner, according to Tom, is being held at the jail on East Street.

We have completed breakfast, and though it was hardly a merry affair, I do not feel as angry with my companions as I did yesterday. There have been no formal apologies, but we are quite usual with each other once again, so I believe I too have been forgiven for my outburst.

Tom once told me how, during their exploit with my father, they had all believed Skinner was the one responsible for a series of thefts and sabotages. As it turned out, it was a different member of the League, one now dead, about whom the others do not speak. I daresay that part of the reason they are hesitant to say now whether they believe him or not is because they were wrong about him then, and are willing to at least accept the possibility that he may be innocent now as well.

For my part, it is another matter entirely. I _know_ he is innocent.

The morning meal being now over, I am assembling a small collection of things to take to him in the jailhouse. He must be going mad in there - I know I would be - and so the least I can do is pay him a visit and take him a few items. Nothing exceptional, really. I have a basket containing two books, a few pieces of fruit, and some sheets of blank paper, a pen and an inkstand. I imagine he is terribly bored; these might help him pass the time less horribly, until he is freed. As a joke of sorts, to lift his spirits a trifle, one of the books I am taking is _A Tale of Two Cities_, the one he fell asleep reading in the library. I also went to his room and collected his jar of greasepaint, in case he needs to conceal his "condition" better.

* * *

_later_

It is just past luncheon, though I have skipped the meal. I found it quite necessary to come back here and spend a bit of time alone, to compose myself before greeting any of the others.

I went alone to the jailhouse, which I expect raised a few eyebrows from any strangers who happened to witness it. Under the present circumstances, however, I do not care. I did not ask the others to accompany me, nor indeed, tell them where I was going. It may be that they have gone sightseeing without me, though I cannot think that they would be so heartless.

The jailhouse is...not a pleasant place. It is dark, though there is electric lighting, and each prisoner's cell is fitted with a small, high window that allows some natural light to enter. I spoke to the guard at the main desk, and after he reviewed the contents of my basket, he escorted me through the building. I could hear whistling and some vulgar comments as I passed the barred cells, and I will not pretend that I was not a little afraid. But I held my head up and did my best to ignore them.

Skinner was sitting on a low bench, which also (by the look of it) served as his sleeping cot. His leather coat was folded at one end, as to make a pillow. He looked up when we approached, then started to glance away; his head suddenly snapped back up as he realized it really was me.

The guard unlocked the cell. "You have a visitor, Brit," he said, opening the door for me. "I'll be back in half an hour."

I stood there for a moment, uncertain how to proceed. He got to his feet, looking thunderstruck.

"Bess, why - what on earth are you doing here?"

"I...I wanted to see that you were all right."

He motioned for me to sit down, and I did. "Here," I said, passing him the basket. "I brought you a few things...nothing much. I just thought they might make it a little more bearable."

He looked at the basket briefly, then set it aside and turned his attention back to me. "I didn't want you to come here," he said.

I must have looked hurt, because he added quickly, "Not that I'm not glad to see you. Been miserable in here, if you want to know the truth. But you shouldn't have come."

"I just thought someone ought to look in on you." I felt strangely stupid, like my brain and tongue were no longer civil.

"How are the others?" he asked awkwardly. "I mean, do they think..." He let the sentence hang there.

"They don't quite know what to think," I said truthfully. "I suppose they're shocked - we were all shocked. Give them a little time, they'll come around."

He studied me for a moment. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but - why?"

"Well, it's not hard to have faith in someone who's never let you down." His hands were on his knees, and I reached out to pat the nearest one. He turned it palm-upwards and curled the fingers around my own.

"We're going to get you out of here," I told him. I don't know where it had come from, but I was suddenly furious about the whole affair and determined to do whatever it took to free him. "I promise."

"Might take awhile," he said. He didn't look at me.

"I'm not leaving this city without you. And neither will the others."

He turned his head in my direction then, a funny sort of lopsided smile crossing his face. "Lord knows I wouldn't want to get in your way when you're settled on something." He actually chuckled, and I had to smile in response.

I really was not certain what I could do, not while remaining within the boundaries of propriety and without telling him everything which lay on my tongue. It was an uncomfortable situation, and that in itself was strange, for we are almost never uncomfortable with each other. Perhaps he was as unsure as I was about how to behave under the peculiar circumstances. So we just sat there quietly, my hand in his, our knees not quite touching.

"Is it very bad in here?" I asked finally. "Is there anything you need?"

"Nah. I'm all right. Could do with a bit of fresh air, of course." He smiled wryly, and I found myself wishing I could bottle sunlight.

The guard came back. "Five minutes."

We stood up, not sure how to end this odd visit. He still held my hand. I felt pained, not wanting to remain in that place and yet unwilling to leave him.

"Bessie, listen," he said. "Don't come back. I don't want you in this place...it can suck the life out of anybody. Promise me."

Reluctantly, I did.

"All right. Now, go on back to the ship. And look after yourself," he added, smiling lopsidedly again, "since I can't for now."

"We _will_ get you out of here," I repeated. He just nodded.

Rodney has kissed my hand before, always with what I term mock chivalry. He acts as though he is pretending to be gallant. This time, though, he lifted my hand and pressed it very firmly to his lips for a moment, then moved it so the knuckles rested against his cheek. "Go on, love," he said, releasing his grip.

I nodded, no longer trusting myself to speak, and the guard let me out of the cell. Somehow I made my way back outside, into the hansom cab which had waited for me, and back here. Only when I was safe in my room did I give full vent to my grief.

* * *

_later still_

After I had regained my composure and erased any outward sign that I had been crying, I went in search of Tom.

I found him up on the deck, shooting. He does this from time to time; one of the Indian soldiers fires a target into the water, and he shoots it where it lands. When we are moving on the ocean, it's probably fairly challenging, but docked in the river, I imagine it's much easier.

"Where've you been?" he asked me in surprise. "We haven't seen you all day."

"I went to visit Skinner."

He paused in the midst of aiming. "Ah. How is he?"

"He's...not doing well."

"I'm not surprised."

"Tom, he's innocent."

"I want to believe that too, Elizabeth."

"What's stopping you?"

He turned to look at me, and paused. I stood there patiently, letting him study my expression. "You're really convinced of this, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. We've got to do something, Tom. We've got to find out who really did this."

"The police are handling it," he pointed out.

"Hang the police! I told him we would get him out. If you won't help me, I'll do it myself."

He sighed. "Do you know what the last thing he said to me was? Yesterday, when I was leaving?"

"No. What?"

"He said, 'Keep an eye on Bess for me, Tom. You know how trouble finds her.'" I could almost hear Skinner's voice in my head, saying those very words. "And he's right - although in this case, I think you're going looking for it."

"Does that mean you're going to help me?" I asked hopefully.

He chuckled. "Reckon it does, li'l sis."

We decided to head back to the White House and retake the tour, to see if we could spot anything out of the ordinary. As it happened, we again had Richard as our tour guide, and he remembered us.

"Such a shame about your friend!" he said sympathetically. "I suppose it must have been a terrible shock to you, miss."

"Yes, rather," I said. "Do you remember anything unusual about that day?"

"Apart from your friend? No, not really."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well - if you'll excuse me for saying so, he is a bit odd-looking, isn't he? Never met anyone that pale, English or otherwise."

I felt more than a little affronted by this, but I elected to let it pass without comment. We made our way to the State Dining Room, the home of all our troubles. I half-listened while Richard talked about the Tiffany decor, then joined Tom as he studied the remaining silverware on the mahogany table.

"Anything?" I whispered.

"Nothing unusual," he replied. "But I spoke to the guard, the police have been all over this room. If there was anything here to find, they've already found it."

"You can't even tell what's been taken," I said, looking at the place settings.

"Yeah. This isn't the whole set, you know. They keep some of it in storage; they brought out some of the extra pieces to stand in the place of the ones that were taken. Didn't want anyone else to notice the theft - they're trying to keep it out of the papers."

"That's probably a good thing for Skinner as well," I murmured.

"You're not kidding!"

We left the dining room and went back to the North Entrance hallway, where we stood for a few minutes. Tom leaned against the wall and lapsed into one of his brown studies; I've noticed that when he's thinking particularly hard, he traces the letter V on his cheek or his chin with his forefinger. I waited for him to finish his contemplations.

"I think we should talk to the tour guide who was with the group after ours," he said at length. "Find out exactly who made the discovery."

It is no small boon, when seeking answers to a problem in the home of American government, to have a United States Secret Service agent working with you. Tom's credentials enabled us to get an audience with the very man we needed, an elderly gentleman named Harry James.

"Oh, yes," he said, when Tom asked him about the burglary of the day before. "Yes, I was with that group. Most alarming! I had just started to tell them about how President Monroe purchased the silver - 1817, you know, from France - and I looked down, and I saw that four of the place settings were missing spoons! Well, I sent for the guards at once, as you can be sure. I understand they've got the ruffian in custody."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Tom gave me a warning look and I remained silent. "Mr. James," he said, "how many people know exactly what's been taken?"

"Well, I do, and of course now you do as well. There were four, no, five guards. And I expect the President has been notified."

"No one else? You didn't mention it to any of the people in your tour group, or anything like that?"

"No. I tried very hard not to let them know there was anything wrong; I think I succeeded. I'm told they don't want this in the newspaper, so I don't think anyone else has been told."

Tom nodded. He was getting that faraway look in his eyes again. "All right, sir, thank you very much."

I followed him back to the entrance hall. "What are you thinking, Tom?" I asked. He didn't answer right away; I'm not even sure that he heard me.

"Four spoons," he muttered.

I looked at a nearby clock; it was approaching teatime. "Brother?"

"Sorry. Let's get back to the _Nautilus_. We need to talk to the others."

When we had all assembled in the main chamber for tea, Tom addressed the company. "Skinner," he informed everyone, "didn't do it."

Music to my ears.

"How do you know?" asked Nemo.

"We talked to the tour guide who discovered the theft," he explained. "He said that four spoons had been stolen from the table."

"And?" Mina pressed.

"And nobody else knew what had been taken at that point, except for that tour guide and the guards he summoned. Nobody else really knows now, except for us and maybe President McKinley. They've replaced the missing spoons with extras from the set."

"But what does that prove?" I asked him. I was at least as eager as anyone else to hear that this somehow exonerated my poor friend, but Tom's logic was bewildering.

"Well, it doesn't really prove anything - yet," he admitted. "But it's got me thinking. Elizabeth, did you write about the event in that diary of yours?"

"Of course."

"Run and get it, will you? Maybe you noted something that will get my attention."

I returned with the diary, and at Tom's bidding, I read aloud the entry I'd written about our tour. I omitted certain personal details, of course. He looked disappointed, for there was nothing which was of any use.

"I propose," said Nemo, glancing at me, "that we all return to the Executive Mansion tomorrow and take the tour again, together. Five pairs of eyes are better than two, as are five pairs of ears. We must do our best to solve this."

It would seem that they believe, at last, that Skinner is innocent. For what reason they have accepted this, I have not ventured to ask. It is enough for me that they do.

Tom has gone to the jailhouse to visit him. He asked me if I wanted to accompany him, but as I have promised Skinner I will not return, I was forced to decline.


	4. Reunions

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N: **Another chapter dedication, as promised. This one's for Siobhan, a.k.a. Stargazer, with thanks for all the pretty pictures.

* * *

_8 April 1900 _

We have accomplished something extraordinary this morning - the lost pieces of silver have been recovered!

Following breakfast, as planned, we boarded hansom cabs and went to the White House. We took the tour again, but it yielded nothing. Mina, Henry and Nemo decided to take it a second time, just to be sure. Tom and I, having grown fairly sick of the interior of the place, decided to remain outside. There are street vendors all over the city, including many in the neighbourhood where the White House is located, and we amused ourselves by browsing their wares.

I had little heart for any sort of amusement, in truth. My mind kept wandering to that dark jail cell I visited only yesterday, and to its solitary occupant. So I was only half paying attention as I made to cross the street.

Abruptly, Tom snatched me back onto the walk, out of the path of an oncoming wagon. I had not even seen it. "Eyes open, girl," he said, releasing my arm. "I can't protect you all the time."

"That sounds like something my father would say." In spite of myself, I had to smile.

"It _was_ something he said to me once," he replied. It was both kind and sensible of Tom to call my father to mind in this manner, and I resolved to behave more like a Quatermain.

We crossed the street together then, and separated; he went one way down the row of vendors, I went the other. As I passed his cart, one of the vendors, who spoke rather poor English, addressed me. "Pretty lady buy something?"

Distracted, I examined the items on his push cart. Flatware, mostly; odd pieces from assorted sets. I almost turned away when something caught my eye - the sun suddenly glinted on something gold, half-buried among the offerings.

"Tom!"

He came running at my call, and I held up the gold spoon. I was trembling all over with shock and hope.

"Where did you get this?" he asked the man. "Are there more?"

"Don't frighten him," I said softly. "He doesn't speak English very well. I don't think he understands that there's anything wrong."

The police were summoned, and after an hour or more, they found someone who could converse with the street vendor in his native German. Yes, he had four such spoons. No, he bought them from another man just the day before.

"It can't have been Skinner," I fairly crowed. "There's no way he could have gotten out here to sell the spoons and back into the White House in the short time he was gone!"

The officer nearest me was a bit more sceptical. "An accomplice, perhaps?"

"What accomplice? He doesn't know anyone in the city except us," said Tom. "He's never set foot in this country before."

The street vendor, according to his very puzzled testimony, had acquired the gilt spoons from another vendor, an acquaintance of his brother's, on the far side of the city. "I wondered about that," said Tom in a low voice. "Be pretty stupid of the thief to sell them to someone so close to the White House."

Tom has gone with the police to track down the other vendor; the rest of us have returned here to the Nautilus. If all goes well, we may have Skinner back with us as early as tomorrow.

* * *

_9 April 1900 _

The second vendor spoke no better English than the first, but thanks to the interpreter, it wasn't too difficult to speak to him. According to Tom, he had bought the spoons from a young man with light brown hair. He was unaware of their cultural significance, having only been in the country for a few months, and seemed genuinely surprised (and frankly terrified) when he learned that they were stolen property. Apparently, the seller had claimed they were his own grandmother's.

From what Tom reported at dinner, neither of the vendors will be charged as accessories. But even the eyewitness description has not bought Skinner's freedom, for the police still maintain that the man with light brown hair could have been his accomplice. I suppose it is well that no one in the League matches that description.

He wishes to give the White House yet another attempt today. As I have no better ideas, I will go with him. But I am beginning to despair of ever solving this mystery.

* * *

_later_

I scarcely dare to believe it's true. But it is, heaven be praised. We have caught the real thief.

Tom and I went through the White House tour once again, and once again, it was a complete waste of time. We lingered in the entrance hallway afterward; I could see he was tracing Vs on his cheek again, so I endeavoured to be quiet to allow him to think.

Just at that moment, our former tour guide happened to come into the hall. "Oh, are you back again?" he asked, striding over and smiling genially. "I'm starting to take your visits personally, miss." He winked roguishly.

"Are you quite certain, sir, that you can't recall anything unusual from the day of the burglary?" I asked him, ignoring the wink.

His smile dimmed somewhat. "Still searching for clues? Sorry I can't be more helpful. Like I said, your friend was the strangest thing I saw that day."

Tom glanced at Richard thoughtfully, then caught my eye. His finger was still on his cheek, and he moved it to his lips, gesturing for my silence. "It's a shame about the lost silver," he said casually. "They say it might never be recovered."

"Yes, so I heard," said Richard, nodding.

"And they're talking about sending our friend to the state prison. All this fuss, and over what? A couple of forks?"

"Spoons."

"Oh, that's right, spoons," Tom said, nodding. "And it's not like there were so many missing, either. Three, wasn't it?"

"Four, as I understand it."

"And I'd like to know just how you understand that," Tom went on, calm as you please, "since only Harry James, the security guards, and the actual thief knew what was taken."

Richard turned white. Then he flushed to the roots of his light brown hair.

Much as I wanted to go, Tom would not allow me to accompany him when he went with the officers who arrested Richard. Instead, he sent me back to the _Nautilus_ to alert the others to everything that happened. I was too proud of his cleverness, and too relieved that it would all soon be over, to put up much of a fight.

The others were also relieved to learn of Richard's guilt, and Skinner's confirmed innocence. Nemo gave orders for a celebratory dinner, and I slipped off to his room to make sure that all was orderly for his return. After that, I came back to my own room to update this diary. I do not know how long a wait we have until they come, so I must find a way to occupy my restless mind until then.

* * *

_10 April 1900 _

Well, he seems none the worse for wear.

The rest of us were in the main chamber, taking our tea, when Tom and Rodney came back. Tom wore an expression of mild triumph, which I felt he more than deserved.

Skinner walked into the room with his arms spread and announced, quite cheerily, "I'm back! Did you miss me?"

We all rose to greet him. Everyone was smiling, and I knew the others felt a little guilty for ever doubting him. Nemo and Henry shook hands with him cordially, welcoming him home. Mina too offered her hand, I presume to shake his, but he caught it and drew it to his lips mockingly. "Ah, Mina, you _have_ missed me, haven't you?"

"There are no words to describe the suffering," she replied dryly, disengaging her hand. He laughed, then turned to me, and I offered my hand as well. To be honest, I wasn't entirely certain what he would do with it.

He neither shook the hand nor kissed it, but merely held it for a long moment. "Kept yourself out of trouble, Bess?"

"Of course."

"Ah, it's good to be home," he said, looking around hungrily. "I did miss this place. I even missed you lot."

We sat down, and in between mouthfuls of tea and buttered scone, Skinner and Tom told us everything that had happened after Richard's arrest. Caught by his own knowledge, and identified at once by the man to whom he'd sold the spoons, the thief had confessed the crime. Skinner was released with a full pardon and an apology.

"Not only that," said Tom, looking enormously pleased, "but we met with President McKinley himself. Only for a few minutes, of course, but he thanked us for catching the rogue. Apparently there have been a couple of petty thefts in the last few months that he might have been responsible for, but this was the first big thing he did."

"What made him frame you, though, Skinner?" asked Henry.

"Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," he replied. "Apparently, I look odd enough that I stuck out in his notice. He nabbed the handkerchief when it fell out of my pocket - shouldn't have had it in my coat, I guess - and planted it after we went out into the hallway. When I left you all for a few minutes after the tour, it only helped his scheme."

He wouldn't tell us much about his time in jail, except that he was beginning to go stir-crazy after a time. "Those books you brought did help," he told me. "I hope you're happy, I sat there and read _A Tale of Two Cities_ all the way through. Hope I come to a better end than that Carton chap."

After the separation of the last few days, I confess I was rather unwilling to let him out of my sight very much; the others seemed equally inclined to have him nearby. So we remained in the stateroom until well past dinner time, playing parlour games and talking of nothing important.

Today it has rained again, so we have remained aboard the ship. I admit I do not know where he has been most of the afternoon, but it feels like life has returned to what we consider normal. I have my Skinner back again.

* * *

_11 April 1900 _

It being Sunday, I awoke and prepared for service. I retired earlier than usual last night, saying I wished to attend the early service at St. Mark's church on Third Street. We had made tentative plans to resume sightseeing in the afternoon, but the morning was quite free, and I thought the early service would be nice in that it tends to be shorter than the later services.

I was a bit taken aback when I left my room and found Skinner waiting in the hallway, dressed in a suit. "I think the others are still asleep," he said quietly. "I know you hate to go to church alone, thought I'd go along." This is quite true, and I was pleased that he remembered.

We took a cab to church, but by the time we exited, the day was growing quite warm and pleasant, so we decided to walk back along the river. It was a beautiful morning, and everything around us sparkled with that newness only spring can give.

"I don't like being on the ship too much," he confessed as we walked. "I think I was caged too long. Start getting antsy if I can't go outside. You know what I really missed? The sky."

It was a little unusual for him to be so candid about such matters, but I thought perhaps he needed to talk. He'd had precious little chance to speak to anyone for the past few days. So I let him continue in this vein for a few minutes, until he fell silent again.

We paused on the riverbank to watch a family of geese swimming past. The formation was charming; the father goose was in the front, then the four children following in a row, with the mother goose bringing up the rear. There were cherry trees along the river, the branches covered in sweet-smelling blossoms. We seated ourselves on a bench beneath one of these, and for perhaps twenty minutes or more we remained quiet. But this was the easy, comfortable calmness which is usual for us, not the stiff, awkward silence of when I visited him in jail.

The wind picked up, suddenly, and a shower of cherry blossoms rained down on us. I laughed, sweeping them from my lap; one had fallen in perfect condition, and I reached over to tuck the stem into his topmost button-hole.

"Trying to make a dandy out of me?" he asked.

"Would I do that?"

"You couldn't if you wanted to."

"Which I don't."

"Oh, all right then." I really had missed bantering with him.

We resumed our silence, watching the geese. After a while, he said, "Don't think I thanked you for coming to see me."

"I was worried about you."

"I thought I'd go mad in there, honestly."

We sat for another minute or two, then he stood. "Best be getting back, I expect. They'll be wondering where we are, probably accuse us of eloping." He grinned. "Want to?"

I dropped my parasol. "What?"

"Nothing, Bessie. Only teasing." I laughed, though I felt a strange twitching in my heart. He picked up the parasol and handed it to me, then helped me to my feet.

As we walked back toward the _Nautilus_, I took his arm. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, love. So am I."


	5. Into the West

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N: **This chapter's dedicated to Kame, one of the fan artists who sent me some lovely pictures, and who helped me with Elizabeth's dream in the library.

* * *

_13 April 1900_

Nearly everything is ready for our journey west to Missouri. We will travel by rail and then closed carriage to the town of St. Petersburg, where Tom spent his childhood. Except for the funeral of his friend Huck, he has not been home in a good two years, so we will indulge him by remaining there for about a month.

We leave tomorrow for our trip through the American countryside. Ever since Greece, I confess a rather strong fondness for travelling by train, and I am looking forward to the excursion.

* * *

_14 April 1900_

Well, that was a curious dream. I suppose that's what I get for reading Shakespeare until I fall asleep.

I dozed off in the library - this much I know. My friends and I, in this odd dream, went to a masquerade. We were very much amused by one another's costumes. Henry was dressed as a pirate called Long John Silver; Mina was a Greek goddess (Aphrodite, I believe); Nemo was a character from an Indian legend, whose name I knew in the dream but cannot now recall. Tom was a knight in shining armour, which I thought appropriate for his disposition. I'm not quite certain of it now, but I think I was supposed to be Queen Elizabeth, though in her younger days when she was merely a princess. It made sense at the time, but most things do in dreams. Skinner was dressed as - well, I don't know exactly what he was. Some kind of cavalier, with a long black cloak and matching black mask; he carried a rapier and looked exceedingly elegant.

The masquerade was huge, and we were soon separated by the massive crowd. It was an outdoor affair, at Kensington Gardens back in England. I remember dancing with a great many faceless gentlemen, all of whom rather unnerved me. Then there came a very energetic reel-style dance (though not any reel I recognize), and one rather clumsy pair collided with myself and my partner. I fell to the ground with a twisted ankle or some such nonsense, and my most ungentlemanly partner disappeared. The dancing went on around me as if I were not there, and I felt somewhat in danger of being trampled Fortunately, at that moment, I heard the swishing of a cape as someone swept over and picked me up off the ground. I could not see his face, either, but this did not disturb me as it had with my faceless dance partners. I put my arms round his neck and rested my head on his shoulder; I could hear his pulse accelerate slightly as he carried me away from the dancers.

When I awoke I was in my own bed, still dressed, with a light blanket covering me. How I got there from the library, I do not know...though I could guess.

I am growing quite ridiculous, honestly.

* * *

_16 April 1900_

We are on the train heading west, and I confess the American countryside is really beautiful. There are many green fields and thick, dense forests, and yet also many farms and growing cities and settlements. Tom tells me that the country is very different from one end to the other, and I am inclined to believe him. It is also a country of incredible size, for how young it really is. The whole of England could fit three times over in the state of Texas alone!

The journey to Missouri will take about two more days, time we will pass in reading, in card games, or in good conversation. We are accompanied by just eight of Nemo's men; Jaya and the others have taken the _Nautilus_ back out to sea, and will rendezvous with us in Washington when we return.

Tom seems eager to be returning to St. Petersburg; the closer we get, the more boyishly excited his expression becomes. His cousin Mary is expected to greet us when the train reaches the station, and I believe he is looking forward to seeing her again. His half-brother Sidney and his family have relocated to California, so we will not be meeting them.

* * *

_21 April 1900_

So this is St. Petersburg! A bustling, jolly little community, on the whole, and delighted to have their native son home again. We arrived here on the eighteenth, but I have not had the time to write before this.

Tom let out an amusing whoop when he got off the train, and straightaway a young woman on the platform began to laugh. This was his cousin, Mary, with whom Tom had grown up and of whom he is dearly fond.

"How do, cousin!" he called, all but vaulting across the station to sweep her into a great hug. As we joined them, he introduced us each in turn, and she likewise introduced us to her husband Matthew. Tom had never met this cousin-in-law, having already left to join the Secret Service when their marriage took place, but he seems to approve of the gentleman and appeared thoroughly delighted to learn that Mary is expected to give birth to her first child in the new year.

Mary and Matthew will not be remaining in St. Petersburg during our visit; they live some miles north of the town, and made the journey just to greet Tom and see us all settled. We are staying at a charming hotel run by the Singers, a pleasant elderly couple. Tom's kin stayed over our first night and departed the next morning for their home, but not without urging Tom to refrain from being a stranger in future.

Already we have met a great many of the town's more prominent residents, who have turned out in droves to see the famous Tom Sawyer. Among these are the Reverend Miller, of St. Michael's church, whom I quite like, and deputy mayor Benjamin Everett, whom I do not.

I feel a bit regretful to write such a thing, but it is the plain truth. There is something about this gentleman which makes me slightly uneasy, and I am not solely referring to the fact that he rarely goes anywhere without at least one of a number of larger, stronger men acting as his bodyguard. The actual mayor of St. Petersburg is presently in the city of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, accompanying his wife to a family funeral, and will probably not return until after we have departed; for this reason, Deputy Mayor Everett is acting in his stead and was chief among the welcomers on our first day here. They having anticipated our arrival, a lovely banquet was arranged in Tom's honour at the Singers', and it was just before this that we met Mr. Everett. He was introduced to Tom by one of the men who remembered him from his youth, and then Tom introduced each of us.

His eyes lingered on Skinner, who stood beside me; I expect he, and many others, were a bit taken aback by Rodney's odd appearance. Then he turned to me and learned my name. If he recognized "Quatermain," he gave no sign, but when we made to enter the hotel for the meal, he offered me his arm and I felt obliged to take it. Since that time he has been nothing but considerate and solicitous of me, and in perfect truth, this bothers me a great deal.

I could not say precisely why it bothers me. Mr. Everett has very polished manners; his appearance is not unpleasant, being fully as tall as Tom with thick brown hair and eyes to match. Perhaps it is merely that I am unaccustomed to receiving such singular attention from a man outside of the League - oh, very well, let me be frank. I am unused to this much attention from _anyone_, except Skinner, from whom I welcome it!

_He_ does not seem to trust Mr. Everett, not at all. Whether this is anything along the lines of jealousy, I could not say, but it is very plain that he is uncomfortable with how often we find the deputy mayor in our company. None of us can quite bring ourselves to be rude enough to tell him to go away and leave us in peace for awhile, and so we have found ourselves enduring his presence during at least one meal of every day thus far. As I have said, he is well-mannered in nearly all respects, so it is hard to object to his company. Still, I am certain that Skinner does not care for him, whatever the reason, and that alone is sufficient reason for me to be slightly suspicious.

* * *

_23 April 1900_

Today I accompanied Tom to the town cemetery, where we paid a visit to the graves of his parents, his Aunt Polly, and Huckleberry Finn. They are all buried in the same row; when Huck was killed, Tom insisted on burying him in the family plot, saying that he had practically been his brother.

When I had occasion to visit my mother's grave, I was never in the habit of addressing her as one would address a living person, but that's precisely what Tom did. He actually introduced me to the four of them, and paid me the honour of explaining that I was as much like his sister as Huck had been like his brother. "So don't go gettin' any romantic notions there, Aunt Polly," he added. I wasn't really certain if I was supposed to say anything, so for the largest part I kept quiet. I had brought flowers, as I did when I visited Mother in London, and these I distributed among the four graves.

"Saw Mary," he told them. "Well, guess you know she's expecting. Her husband seems real nice. Everyone sure looks happy that I came home, isn't that funny?" He put his hands in his pockets.

"Well, you probably know everything I've been doing. Been a crazy year, and painful sometimes, but I'm happy. I'm enjoying my life." Tom seemed to have forgotten I was there. "It's like I've got a family again. Not that I don't still miss you folks, because I do. I hope you're proud of me." His tone was wistful; he suddenly looked much younger than twenty-one.

When he had finished talking to his loved ones, he turned to me. "Let's go back," he said quietly. I gave a respectful nod to the four graves, and we walked out of the cemetery.

"They are, you know," I told him quietly.

"What?"

"Proud of you. I'm sure of it."

He didn't answer, but I saw him smile. I took his arm, and we made our way back to the hotel for tea.


	6. Gossip and a Gentleman Caller

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to to Tobias, my dear werewolf artist!

* * *

_26 April 1900_

We have been in St. Petersburg a week now, and if it weren't for Tom's evident joy at being home, I would be more than ready to leave.

Gossip-mongers.

I suppose you find them wherever you go, and I won't deny having indulged in such behaviour myself on occasion in the past, but these American women are not exactly discreet. You'd think they would realise that merely covering their mouths with their fans is not nearly enough to block the sounds of their voices.

I was out alone this afternoon, for a change. I decided to go for a bit of a walk, just to wander past the different shop windows and view the wares; I have been to the bank and exchanged some of my English money for the American currency, but have not yet found anything I felt compelled to purchase. Still, "window shopping" is a pleasant enough pastime, in an idle moment.

I was standing near the open door of the dry goods establishment, which is next to the bookstore; it was the bookstore's window that I was viewing, and debating whether I wished to go inside. Suddenly, a voice came out of the other store - not a loud voice, but loud enough.

"Oh, yes, that's Tom Sawyer's friend. I hear our Mr. Everett is quite taken with her!" I felt myself redden.

"That's what I heard too," said another voice. "I heard he goes to the hotel every day to see her."

"Pretty enough, I suppose, but so pale. English, isn't she?"

"I believe so. She has that accent, I heard her speak."

"Is she encouraging the suit, do you think?"

"I can't imagine why she wouldn't, but then again, she's always with those other men. Not just Tom - there's the dark-skinned older fellow in their company, and that odd-looking bald one."

"Oh, did you get a look at him! I never saw anyone so white in my life! I heard it's actually make-up, that he does it on purpose."

"Why would anyone want to look like that? He's positively frightening!" This followed by a great many giggles from both parties.

At this point, it may well be imagined, my blood was approaching the boiling point. While I have begun to accept and even allow myself to be flattered by Mr. Everett's attentions, it was agitating to find they have become public knowledge; it was even more annoying that I would be discussed in such a manner by people who do not know me. But that they would say anything so rude and horrible about one of my family - about the dearest person in the world to me - made me so angry I very nearly snapped the handle of the parasol I carried.

Rather than say something no less rude than what I was overhearing, I turned and made my way back to the hotel, where I found the "odd-looking bald one" on the porch with Tom. I don't know what they were discussing, but it did me quite a bit of good just to see the pair of them being so companionable and relaxed. They greeted me as I approached, and I felt myself growing calmer.

"Where've you been, Bess?"

I could not, of course, tell him what I'd just heard. "Just out for a walk," I replied. "It's a bit dull, though, walking by yourself."

"So why didn't you come get one of us? We'd have gone with you," said Tom languidly. He was leaning against the porch rail, chewing on a long blade of grass in a manner I found both vulgar and perfectly natural.

"Oh, I don't know," I said lightly. "I didn't want to disturb you, I suppose."

"You never disturb us - does she, Skinner?"

"Never."

Somehow, that little exchange made me feel a great deal better. The three of us sat together, talking and laughing as we often do, until teatime.

I still would not object, however, to an early departure.

* * *

_27 April 1900_

All right, I confess it. I do, a bit, like this Mr. Everett.

He joined us for dinner (yet again), and afterwards, he invited me for a walk. As it was still reasonably light outside, I acquiesced, feeling that there was no particular harm in doing so. I did notice that Skinner, who sat opposite me at the table, suddenly developed a rather firm grip on his napkin, and I thought perhaps he was concerned about the safety of my being alone with this man whom, quite honestly, none of my friends particularly like. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, but I am not going to entertain the notion, as pleasant a notion as it is.

We strolled down the main street, he pausing quite often to lift his hat to a passing lady or acknowledge a greeting from someone he knew. In between he talked to me - about St. Petersburg and how he had come to live here, and was I enjoying my stay so far, and were the hotel accommodations suitable, and were my friends enjoying themselves?

"Your friends are really quite singular," he commented. "I believe the older gentleman - Nemo, was that his name? - is creating a bit of a stir in town. No one has ever seen anyone like him."

"There is no one in the world like the captain," I said truthfully.

"Dr. and Mrs. Jekyll are a most engaging couple," he continued. "And of course, Tom is a hero in St. Petersburg from some time back; it seems everyone is very pleased to have him home."

"I know he is pleased to be here."

"The other one, though...your friend, Mr. Skinner...he is extremely unusual, isn't he? Even for an Englishman, he's uncommonly pale. I hope he is well?" He looked merely curious.

"He has a very distinct condition," I said carefully. "He is quite well, however. I'm sure he would be pleased to know of your concern."

"You and he are quite close, are you not?"

I was not certain, in truth, how to interpret the question. Was it merely conversational? Or does he in fact have an inclination to press a more serious suit, the way people in town seem to think, and wishes to be certain that I am unattached? "I am no less close to Mr. Skinner than I am to Mr. Sawyer," I said at length. This is, of course, an honest answer, though the reverse is not entirely so. "We are all very dear friends."

"How is it," he inquired, "that you came to be part of such a remarkable company? That's not to say you yourself are unremarkable, of course."

"They were friends of my father's," I replied. "After his death, Nemo very graciously assumed the role of my guardian and has looked after me ever since."

"Ah," he said faintly. "And you all live on...a submarine? That must be an unusual lifestyle, I am sure."

"Unusual, but thoroughly delightful," I assured him. "I would not desire to give up life aboard the _Nautilus_ for anything in the world."

"But surely you have aspirations," he countered. "A life of your own, a home, a family?"

Now, really, this was a bit impertinent.

"I _have_ a family," I replied, and even I could hear the edge in my voice. "They are at the Singers' hotel, and probably wondering why I have not returned, as it is starting to grow dark. If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Everett, I think I should be getting back."

"Yes, of course, Miss Quatermain," he said, steering me in that direction. "I hope I've not offended you with my inquiries. I only wished to know a bit more about you, you understand."

I promised him that I was not offended. We reached the hotel porch and I thanked him for the walk.

"On the contrary, it is I who thank you for the pleasure of your company," he said. I extended my hand courteously, and he was about to kiss it when he was interrupted by Tom, who came out onto the porch.

"Oh, you're back," he said innocently. "Everyone's in the back parlour - evening cup of tea before bed, they were hoping I'd spot you if I came outside."

"Ah, sounds like just the thing," I replied. "Well, good night, Mr. Everett." He looked disappointed, probably expecting to be invited to join us, but I left him and made my way to the parlour, Tom following. To judge by the looks I received, the others were relieved that I had not brought him with me.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Mina, handing a cup of tea to her husband.

"I suppose so. It's a lovely evening."

She poured another cup and passed it to me. "I daresay he rather likes you, Elizabeth."

I hope I didn't look _too_ pleased by this. "He is a well-spoken gentleman, I will say that for him. Very solicitous."

"Mrs. Singer is of the opinion," she said conspiratorially, "that Mr. Everett has been looking to settle down."

"Indeed?" The men were being so quiet that, for a moment, I forgot they were there, and I continued speaking only to Mina. "That could explain why he was inquiring whether I was inclined to want a home and family of my own."

There was a small crash, and everyone jumped. I looked around and saw that one of the teacups had smashed on the floor.

"Bugger," Skinner muttered. "Didn't get a firm grip." He dropped to his knees, picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic. Mrs Singer came bustling in with broom and dustpan, shooing him away from the mess. We finished our tea in relative silence, and I came up here to bed.

Settle down? With him? I admit it's not something I've been considering - not that I wouldn't like to settle down. It's just that...well...I've been hoping to do it with someone else. But I may be an overly romantic fool who has completely misread the intentions of her dearest friend. Mr. Everett is not my first choice, of course, but I could not say he is my last choice either. Perhaps I should simply see where this goes.

* * *

_28 April 1900_

I think Mr. Everett was afraid that he really did offend me last night with his questions, for at the breakfast table this morning, Mrs. Singer handed me a little bouquet of wildflowers. "Your young man brought these by for you while you were upstairs, Miss," she said. She actually sounded more excited than I felt. "Charming fellow, that Mr. Everett!"

I thanked her for passing them on. I did not fail to notice the glances exchanged by my friends, but did not comment. I am well aware that they do not approve of the gentleman or his interest in me, but I really cannot say why. Tom sometimes looks like he would like to hit Mr. Everett - I suppose he is just being my protective "big brother." No one ever comes out and says anything against him, however; perhaps they cannot find precise justification for their dislike of him.

* * *

_30 April 1900_

All of St. Petersburg is buzzing with excitement just now, for in two days' time, there is to be a public ball in the town's dance hall. I am told that they hold such festive events periodically throughout the warmer months, and this is to be the first ball since last November, so everyone is quite looking forward to it. We - that is to say, my friends and I - have discussed it and are all of a mind to attend. Except for the lively amusements we had at Christmastime, I've not had much opportunity for dancing in a good two years, so I confess myself rather anticipating it.

Skinner is behaving oddly. I realise this is something of a redundant statement, because the man is rather odd in general. (_I_ can say such things about him, unlike the gossipy women I overheard earlier in the week. They don't know him at all, while I - well, I have already made it plain how highly I regard him.) But even by his usual standards, he is acting rather strange. He seems somehow nervous, for reasons I have not managed to determine. I inquired with Tom about it, but he dismissed my concerns, saying that Skinner is fine and I should not worry about him.

* * *

_1 May 1900_

I have seen nothing of Mr. Everett in the last two days. Apparently he has been extremely busy, though with what I have no idea.

I went to the bookstore today for something new to read, as I've worked my way through the books I brought with me. I came away with a copy of Dickens's _Nicholas Nickleby_, which I've never read, then went into the dry goods store for some new gloves. My best gloves, which I wore for Mina and Henry's wedding, are back on the ship, and I thought the occasion merited a new pair.

From what I overheard, all anyone in town can talk about is tomorrow evening's ball. There was much discussion around me about who is going with whom and what they will wear. It was the usual sort of conversation I remembered from my school days, but after so many months on the _Nautilus_, I found it quite tedious and felt glad not to be a part of it.

For my own attire, I have little option. I only brought one dress which could be considered appropriate for a ball, and I am grateful for having had that much foresight. It is the plainest of all my formal dresses, but I am fond of it - a rose-coloured poplin gown, trimmed in white lace. The sleeves are shorter than I normally wear, and the neckline drops a bit lower than on any of my other dresses, both attributes making it more suitable for a ball than most of my clothing. One does grow quite warm when dancing.

I am surmising that Tom was right about Skinner, for he seems much less agitated today than he did yesterday. Perhaps it was merely something he ate or drank which disagreed with him.


	7. Having a Ball

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This chapter, which is my personal favorite of them all, is lovingly and appreciatively dedicated to all those who have been following this story and rooting for the Skinner/Elizabeth relationship.

* * *

_2 May 1900_

Today was such a flurry of activity that I've not had a moment to sit down with this diary until just now. But I simply must record it all, for some things I shall wish to remember forever.

With the natural exception of Nemo, the members of the League attended services this morning at Reverend Miller's church. All the townspeople clustered near the exit afterward, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement over tonight's festivities. I confess I was a trifle nervous, as it has been some time since I attended a formal ball. (The dancing we had at our Christmas celebration, of course, could hardly be considered formal.) I was much surprised to learn that it was not to be a supper ball, which is the sort to which I am most accustomed; but then, supper balls are more frequently reserved for private parties, whereas this is an event for the entire town.

We took the evening meal at half past five, earlier than usual, for the ball began at seven. As the dancing hall is not far from the hotel, this gave us all sufficient time to prepare ourselves.

I was particularly anxious to make a good impression. Mina and I were the only Englishwomen who would be attending the ball, and so I desired to represent my mother country as best I could. Of course, I had other - more obvious - reasons for wishing to look my best, and I spent quite a long time fussing over my curls, some of which I allowed to drape down over my shoulders. My gown smelled, like all my clothes, of roses and cinnamon; I threaded the locket Skinner gave me onto a green velvet ribbon to wear around my throat, and drew on my new pair of gloves.

The gentlemen were still awaiting Mina when I came down the stairs at ten minutes until seven. Nemo, as usual, was dressed in his fine navy blue uniform, the nautilus shell gleaming on his turban. Tom was suited in brown; Henry, in his preferred black; and Skinner in dark green. He glanced up the staircase and watched me descend, giving me a grin; he always looks so pleased whenever I wear his mother's locket.

"Here's our bonny English rose, then," he said. I felt myself colour at that comment, but I merely smiled and joined them at the bottom. Mina appeared a moment later, wearing a sky blue dress I had not seen before, and together, the six of us walked to the brightly-lit dancing hall.

There was quite a crowd assembled in the entryway where each of us collected a dance card. (I have never saved one of these before, but I believe I shall keep this one, as a remembrance of - among other things - the only American ball I am ever likely to attend.) I looked over the list of the dances, which I shall record here:

_The first set - the Grand March, Military Schottische, first waltz, polka._  
_Intermission for refreshment and toasts._  
_The second set - Spanish waltz, Denver Schottische, Virginia Reel, waltz._  
_Second intermission for refreshment and parlour games._  
_The third set - Polka, Home Circle Schottische, Snowball Reel, La Esmeralda, last waltz._

I heard someone - the proctor, I expect - calling for people to begin lining up for the Grand March. Tom, beside me, looked confused.

"Why's Mina lining up with Nemo?" he asked me.

I explained to him that it is considered improper for a married couple to dance together very much, as they are encouraged to mix with other guests as much as possible. "If a gentleman escorts a lady into the Grand March, she is 'his' lady for the evening, and he is obliged to partner her on the first and last waltzes as well," I said. "I expect we shall see Mina dance with Henry once or twice, but more than that would really be considered bad form."

"You society types sure have a lot of funny rules," he said, shaking his head but looking nevertheless amused. "Got a pencil for your card? I'll partner you on the Virginia Reel, if you like." I agreed to this plan enthusiastically, for Tom does a marvellous Virginia Reel (as I found out at Christmas), and our names were thus inscribed on each other's cards. "You're very pretty tonight, li'l sis," he said fondly. "Try not to break too many hearts, okay?"

"I doubt that will be a problem. Meanwhile, Tom," I said, glancing around and putting on an air of conspiracy, "I think there are a number of young ladies present who would very much enjoy the chance to do the Grand March with _you_." Indeed, there were a few who were sending interested gazes in his direction; the audacity of American girls is the wonder of the known world. He seemed not to mind at all, however, and with a parting wink for me, made his way through the crowd.

Suddenly, I realized that I was myself without a partner for the Grand March. I looked about wildly for the others; Mina and Nemo were taking their place in the line for the door, and behind them stood Henry, who had offered to escort Mrs. Singer. I could see Mr. Everett on the far side of the room, also without a partner, and wondered if he would shortly notice that I was alone.

A hand closed on mine. I looked up, very startled, but relaxed at once as Rodney, with one fluid movement, drew my arm through his own. He gave me a grin, and we went to line up behind the others.

"You're supposed to ask first, you know," I scolded him mildly.

"Oh, right, sorry. Do you mind if I hold up your arm for awhile?"

He is the cheekiest man I've ever known, he truly is. But I could not help laughing, and in truth I did not mind in the slightest. If I may be completely honest, I was extremely pleased.

The Grand March always takes a fair amount of time at public balls, simply because there are so many couples participating. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Everett start to approach, then stop abruptly when he realized I'd been partnered. The look he cast at Skinner was not terribly friendly, but Skinner took no notice. In time we progressed into the main hall behind Henry and Mrs. Singer, and all the couples watched each other gliding up and down the dance floor. Everything was quite bright and beautifully polished; there were flowers on tables, and the musicians were splendid.

I am not very skilled at the Military Schottische, so I elected to sit that dance out. Then came the first waltz, the "Blue Danube," and Rodney and I took our places among the other couples. We bowed, as form dictates, and as the music began he put an arm round my waist and took my hand. We'd danced together before, of course, on the _Nautilus_ (though never a waltz), but it felt somehow peculiar to be held in this manner, in this place, and by him. There was something very...strong about it; that's not really the word I wish to use, but I cannot think of the one I want. I could not contemplate this for long, however, for he took me entirely by surprise.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Skinner," I said. (I only call him that when I truly wish to tease him.) "I had no idea you could waltz so well."

"Well, I haven't told you all my secrets, you know."

"I am beginning to suspect that."

After the waltz ended - and I do not recall a waltz ever lasting so brief a time - he escorted me back to where the others were clustered. Henry invited me to be his partner for the polka which was about to begin, and I accepted; after this came the refreshments, and the polka is so lively that I was eager for a cool drink.

As we enjoyed our refreshment and listened to the various toasts, my friends and I traded dance cards in order to claim one another as partners for the various pieces of music. Tom of course was already down for the Virginia Reel, and also put his name down for the Snowball Reel. I was engaged by Nemo for the Spanish waltz, Henry for the Home Circle Schottische, and consented to partner our landlord, Mr. Singer, for the La Esmeralda polka.

Mr. Everett finally found me, and inquired whether I had any space left on my dance card for him. I acknowledged that I was yet unclaimed for the waltz at the end of the second set, and the polka at the start of the third.

"I've already promised myself to someone else for the polka," he said, "but might I have the honour of partnering you for the waltz?" Of course I said yes.

I was then introduced, before the intermission could conclude, to Tom's partner from the Grand March. I was very much startled to learn that it was none other than the former Becky Thatcher, his old sweetheart who married someone else. Tom once confided to me that she had bruised his heart, and I was prepared to think ill of her for that reason; yet it was hard to look unkindly on the girl. She was much as Tom had described her, with golden hair and blue eyes, and her husband is a successful merchant, currently away on business. There was no hint of animosity between them, but rather the sense that they had slipped comfortably into the roles of old friends. I marvelled at his courtesy; if he will speak to me of it later, I must ask him how this all came to pass.

The second set began, and I danced the Spanish waltz with dear Captain Nemo, followed closely behind by Henry and Mina. Nemo is a remarkably skilled and graceful dancer, and I really enjoyed myself. I sat through the Denver Schottische, making small talk with Becky; she seems like a friendly creature and I found myself liking her. Then Tom came to dance the Virginia Reel with me. He is easily my favourite partner for dancing reels, as he is so energetic and full of life.

After Tom escorted me back to my seat, Mr. Everett appeared to claim his promised waltz. He is quite polished in his dancing, and I could see other people watching and pointing at us as we circled the floor.

"I do apologize for not coming to see you since our walk the other night," he said. "I've been very busy with running the town. The mayor sent a telegraph saying he may be away longer than expected."

"Please don't apologize, Mr. Everett. There's no need."

"I had hoped to be your partner for the evening," he confided. "I must confess I was a bit disappointed that Mr. Skinner got to you first."

"We came here together, my friends and I," I told him. "And he saw that I was alone when the Grand March was beginning. He is rather protective of me - they all are."

He glanced over my head. "I don't doubt that," he said with a chuckle. "I do believe he's had his eyes on us the entire time we've been dancing. Is he inclined to be...jealous?"

"I really could not say," I replied honestly. The conversation was taking a line I did not appreciate. As I turned, however, I cast a fleeting look in Rodney's direction, and it appeared that Mr. Everett was quite correct in his assessment. He was watching us; I think if he could have prevented me from dancing with Ben Everett, he would have.

If he felt jealous, however, it was without cause, for I realised something during this waltz: Mr. Everett is handsome, and charming, and eloquent. He has wit and good manners. And I felt absolutely nothing when he looked into my eyes.

When I danced the Spanish waltz with the captain, I could feel his parental affection for me in his glance and in the way he held me. During the lively polka with Henry and the Virginia Reel with Tom, their smiles assured me of their fondness. But this gentleman who danced so beautifully - I felt nothing for him, nor from him. I cannot encourage his suit any farther; it would be unfair to us both. We share no real attraction or interest. I could see Mina waltzing with Henry across the room, and the joy and love on their faces was like a light. I cannot bring myself to settle for less than that.

The next dance was the Home Circle Schottische; the Schottische dances all are tricky to me, but Henry does them well and promised to do his best to help me. Mr. Everett invited Mina to dance with him for this, and she accepted with cool graciousness, though she gave me a look that I understood quite well.

After the Schottische came the Snowball Reel, for which I again had the pleasure of partnering Tom. Our kindly landlord, Mr. Singer, took me through the La Esmeralda, and was so pleasant a partner that when it concluded I thanked him for the dance, which ladies are not normally required to do.

Then came the last waltz.

Henry collected Mrs. Singer, and Nemo escorted Mina onto the floor. Tom found Becky, and I found myself quite alone.

There came a tap on my shoulder, and I turned; Rodney had come up behind me. He gave me the most extraordinarily elegant bow I have ever received, and I felt a wild flutter within me as I returned the courtesy. The music began, and he started to sweep me around the room once again. The song they played was called "Home Sweet Home," a lovely and romantic-sounding piece I had never heard previously.

"I did not see you dance much," I said.

"Oh, didn't you? I did a turn with Mina, on one of those Schottisches."

"Was that all?"

"Yeah, well, my two favourite ladies have been a bit in demand."

As we looped around the ballroom, I felt strangely conscious of everything. I could distinctly feel his hand at my back, and mine on his shoulder; there was something quite noticeable about the way our other hands were joined. The music was all around us, and I was very aware that I was partnered by one of the best dancers in the room. For a time, I could have sworn I was partnered by the only other _person_ in the room. Suddenly I felt nervous; we were looking into each other's eyes for so long, I feared I was staring

To avert my eyes for a time, I gazed around at the other couples. "These American girls are quite graceful dancers," I commented. "And so lovely. All the different colours of hair and dress; it feels as though I'm back in my aunt's hothouse, among the orchids and hibiscus and stargazer lilies."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, also looking around. "Yeah, I see what you mean." The song was just ending, and we bowing, when he added, "I prefer English roses, myself."

I felt myself colouring at these words, for I remembered his remark from earlier in the evening. Our eyes met as we straightened, and he smiled - not the usual impish grin, but a genuinely sweet smile that made my breath catch in my throat. If he noticed my blush, he did not comment as he led me off the floor and toward the exit. As swiftly as that, the party was over, though most people appeared to be in no rush to leave. Indeed, the band was striking up another polka; it is quite usual for balls to include dances beyond those listed on the cards. I had no desire to linger, however, and asked if we could go outside. I seemed to have forgotten how to breathe properly.

_This_ is what I want. I may have been distracted for a little while, by the charms and attention of another man, but the ball restored me to my senses. My heart knows to whom it belongs.

In the entrance hall, we encountered Tom and Henry. "Nemo's taken Mina back to the hotel already," said Henry. "Tom and I were thinking of having a nightcap before heading back. Will you join us, Skinner?"

While they discussed this, I pulled out my fan and attempted to regain my composure; I still felt excessively warm from the last dance. Mr. Everett appeared at my side.

"May I escort you back to the hotel, Miss Quatermain?"

"Oh..." I started to try to explain myself to him, but just then, Rodney left our friends and reclaimed my arm.

"Sorry, mate, but the lady is with me."

I gave Mr. Everett an apologetic smile, though it was hard to do. At these words from Rodney, I felt my whole person light up. I do not think Mr. Everett failed to notice, either, for he gave a short, barely-polite little bow. "Good night, Miss Quatermain, Mr. Skinner," he said curtly, and left.

"Shall we?" asked my escort, with a note of something like triumph in his voice. He led me out of the hall.

It was, I admit, improper for me to be alone with him so late. Aunt Adelaide would have been scandalized. But it was only Skinner...and yet, that was the exact problem. Nevertheless, I did not release his arm, and it seemed to me that we were walking rather slowly, as though trying to make the stroll last. We entered the hotel, and he saw me to the bottom of the stairs.

"Had a good time, Bess?"

"I've had a lovely time. Thank you, Rodney."

He unwound my arm from his, bent, and kissed my hand. I felt that wild flutter again. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, of course. Good night." I started up the stairs.

"G'night, love."

I smiled down at him, feeling positively luminous. Then I came straight up here to write everything in this diary; I've not even changed out of my dress yet. And now - there's a knock at my door.

Oh, my word.

There was no one there, but someone left a rose on the floor; from one of the arrangements at the dance hall, I believe. The flower is a perfect blush colour, almost identical to my gown, and full of fragrance. I looked around and saw no one, but - as I know only too well, after spending much of the past year in Rodney Skinner's company - that means nothing. Just in case, I whispered "Good night" before closing the door.

Sleep will, I suspect, be a long time in coming. But after a night such as this, who needs dreams?


	8. Power Play

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America  
**by Lady Norbert

**A/N: **Okay, you know how much you loved me after that last chapter? That's about how much you're going to _hate _me after this one. I'm sorry, that's how the story goes!

This chapter is dedicated to Lynn, a/k/a settiai, with thanks for the League of Extraordinary Fanfiction.

* * *

_3 May 1900_

I am a little embarrassed to note this, but I slept through breakfast today. Fortunately, I was not the only one. Not unlike the day after Christmas, we were feeling a bit deflated after the excitement of the ball. I left the rose in a glass of water on my nightstand, half wondering if he would mention it. I doubted it, however, as it is simply not his way.

In fact, he was not even at the luncheon table when I arrived. He joined us perhaps half an hour later, looking at once nervous and immensely pleased about something.

"Where've you been?" asked Tom.

"Had an errand to run." For some reason, this seemed to make perfect sense to Tom; apparently to Henry as well, for he glanced at Mina and gave a very small nod. She smiled at him. Whether Nemo was in on the scheme as well I could not say, for he was diverted just then by a question from one of his officers.

After the meal, Tom took me aside. "I wondered," he said, "if you'd care to call on Becky with me. She rather liked you, and she's a bit lonely with her husband out of town, so I said I'd bring you to visit her if you were willing."

"Whenever you like."

"Would now be all right?

We spent the next few hours in Becky's front parlour, and the pair of them seemed to have truly renewed their friendship. Her name is Becky Phillips now, since her marriage, and she admitted freely that she had intended to wait for Tom to come back. "But when I met Edward, everything just happened so fast. I never meant to hurt you, Tom dear."

"Ah, it's all right," he said affably. "If you hadn't married him, I wouldn't have left to join the League, and my life wouldn't be what it is now." He winked at me.

We regaled Becky with some of our exploits of the past year. I am not entirely certain she believed everything we told her, and quite honestly, I could not blame her for having doubts. Invisible assassins, vampires, stone statues that came to life - no sane person would accept such stories without question. In any event, however, she seemed to find it all extremely entertaining.

We left her at about half past three, she thanking us for the amusement and we thanking her for the hospitality. I like her a great deal. We came back here and are about to join the others for tea.

* * *

_later_

This may well be considered the worst night of my life - so far, at any rate. If all goes as planned, there will be far worse to come. Ben Everett just left us, and I feel completely alone in the world.

Mr. Everett came to see me just after teatime, which I felt was just as well; I wanted to tell him the truth, about how I liked him but could not encourage him further, as my heart is not in it. He escorted me into a back parlour of the hotel, where we were thoroughly undisturbed, partly because he left one of his "bodyguards" stationed just outside the door. (I am starting to understand why he takes them with him so often.)

"Now, my dear Miss Quatermain," he said pleasantly, "I think the time has come for me to tell you that I'm quite familiar with your father's exploits."

I lifted my eyebrows at this news, but said nothing. That was hardly surprising, after all. Father penned his memoirs about a number of adventures and they were fairly well read.

"I wanted to ask you," he went on, "whether he ever told you anything about the location of King Solomon's mine. Did he never return?"

"No," I replied, now puzzled. "He never went back to the mine, nor did he ever say anything to me about how to reach it."

"Is there no record of such information? You see, I'm rather eager to see it for myself."

"As I understand it, the mine caved in," I replied. "Whether there is anything left to be seen I could not say. As to the route, if there is such a notation, it would be in his papers, which are back on Nemo's submarine. I have no knowledge of the matter myself; I've not come across any mention, though I admit I haven't read all of his notes."

"Is there no way to investigate it?" He was still smiling, but there was something hard in his eyes. His demeanour was rather disquieting.

"Not without returning to the _Nautilus_ itself, which is presently submerged somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean." It afforded me a curious sense of satisfaction to be able to say that. "And Nemo has made it plain that no one is permitted aboard the vessel save the members of our party."

"Which excludes me, I presume. But there's a way around that, surely." The smile appeared glued to his face, and without further preamble, he dropped to one knee. "Elizabeth Quatermain, will you marry me?"

"What?" I was sure I was hearing him wrongly.

"With you as my bride, who would question my right to follow in my father-in-law's footsteps? We can uncover the mine together and be richer than kings." I could swear there was a hint of mania growing in his expression, and I was becoming more and more alarmed, though I strove to conceal it.

"Mr. Everett, I thank you for your...flattering courtesy," I said coolly. "But I'm afraid I must decline." I hesitated, then added, "My affections are already engaged elsewhere."

He seemed not the least disturbed by this, and I quickly learned why. "Oh, I know. And who can blame you? He's a countryman, older, more experienced in the ways of the world...not to mention that he's bound to be the only invisible man in existence."

Now I was truly concerned - how on earth had he discovered the truth? A note of menace had begun to creep into his voice. He went on, "It must be a difficult sort of life, don't you think? After all, if anything goes amiss around him, he's bound to be blamed for it. Think of all the crimes for which he could be framed - burglaries, even murders."

There is no possible way Everett (he is not worthy of the courteous "Mr.") can know about Skinner's life of larceny before joining the League. Nor can he know about the misadventure in Washington prior to our arrival in Missouri. This was cold comfort, however, for then he said something that brought my heart into my mouth. "Imagine, for instance, that one of your other friends - Sawyer, perhaps - died tonight in his bed! What a strange and terrible tragedy! And how swift the forces of justice would be to act. Why, Mr. Skinner would probably have an appointment with the gallows before the week was out."

"You wouldn't dare," I whispered.

"Would you care to try me, Elizabeth? Do you really think I would object to sacrificing a few bodies on the way to Solomon's mine?" The smile was gone, but the hint of mania was stronger than ever. "But it doesn't have to be that way, you know. It's entirely up to you."

We stared at each other. "What do you want?" I asked finally.

"Marry me. This week, before your friends plan to go back to the submarine, so I can journey as one of them. I'll handle the rest." He caught my chin in his hand, squeezing painfully. "And not a word out of you, mind. No one in town will believe you. You say one word to any of those freaks, and I'll have Sawyer choked in his sleep. You can imagine what will happen then."

I have seen a look such as was on his face only once before in my life. Sebastian de Gaulle, the madman who claimed he was my illegitimate half-brother, wore a very similar expression during our one and only meeting. Then, as now, I had to act to save two precious lives. Everett, like de Gaulle, was threatening Tom, my "almost-brother," and Rodney - the dearest person to me in the entire world. I would walk through fire for either of them. I put a bullet in de Gaulle's head to save their lives; had I possessed the means, I would have done the same to Everett.

But I could not. And he frightens me at least as much as de Gaulle ever did - more, really, because I have known him for these few weeks. I thought him charming; I never would have guessed him dangerous! Is he really capable of what he claims? If I were to tell the others, would he know of it? Could he really have Tom killed? I do not know the answer to any of these questions, but the possibility terrifies me. He is threatening two lives I hold dearer than my own, and it is a risk I am not willing to take. Moreover, I am all too well aware that it is, indeed, very easy to blame Skinner for crimes he did not commit - and Tom would not be here to solve the mystery this time.

If I am to save my loved ones, my options are few. So I did the only thing I could do: I agreed to his terms.

May God have mercy on me, I agreed to be his wife.

* * *

_4 May 1900_

I think I may still be in shock.

The wedding is to take place six days from now, on Monday. I must wear this mask of happiness for six whole days. But what then?

The looks of astonishment I received from the League when we made the announcement last night were well-deserved. Mina and Henry exchanged thoroughly bewildered glances; Nemo frowned; and Tom seemed almost angry. Rodney said absolutely nothing - he looked like a stone statue. I could scarcely stand to even look at him, I thought my heart would break. I did my best to appear happy about the impending marriage, but perhaps I am not good enough an actress to completely fool them. If I can intimate to them that all is not right, without actually telling them, they may be able to somehow stop this madness. I cling to that hope with every ounce of strength I possess.

The hardest part of all was when I, acting under Everett's orders, gave them the further news that we would only be returning to the _Nautilus_ with them long enough to collect the remainder of my belongings. I am to quit their company entirely after my marriage; Everett does not wish to share whatever treasure can be found in Solomon's mine, and moreover, he means to remove me from the presence of the only people in the world who care enough about me to stop him. I got around it as neatly as I could, explaining that I really wished to settle down and lead a normal sort of life, and that as dear as they all are to me, I can never have that with them. I hope I managed to phrase this in a way that gave no offence.

I should also mention in passing that I rather loathe the engagement ring Everett forced upon me. Two very small diamonds flank an equally small pearl on the band. The ring is half a size too large for my hands and keeps slipping around; I am forced to wrap embroidery thread around the band just to make it fit. Like everything else about this marriage, it suits me not at all.

He did, at least, go through the proper motions of asking Nemo for his permission to marry me; he must have remembered my telling him that Nemo is more or less my guardian. Nemo glanced at me, and said, in his stoic way, "If Elizabeth has accepted the proposal, then I shall of course not be of the mind to stop you. She is as a daughter to me, but she is in control of her own destiny."

Oh, sweet Nemo. He could not know, of course he could not know, that I have never been less in control of my own destiny than I am right now.

The moment Everett left our company, I excused myself to come back up to my room, and allowed myself to give in to the storm of weeping that had been threatening all along.

* * *

_5 May 1900_

It is a great thing asked of me, in some respects. I am pretending to be a happy bride. Today I am to go and purchase a suitable dress for the wedding ceremony; were this a normal wedding, I should wear my mother's gown, which is back in my quarters on the _Nautilus_. But in my heart and my soul, I am not now and never will be married to Ben Everett. It is a false marriage, and therefore I am content to wear some other dress. Indeed, even if I had Mother's gown here I would not wear it - I would not dishonour the true bonds of love and matrimony which it represents by wearing it to such a wedding as this.

Mina should be knocking at the door presently. As my matron-of-honour, she's accompanying me on the shopping trip and will be helping me to dress the day of the wedding; Nemo is giving me away, as my father is not here to do it. The ceremony is scheduled to begin at one in the afternoon on Monday. I suppose I should enjoy what remains of my freedom until then, though I could do that much easier if someone were here with me.

But he is not. He has barely said three words to me since I told them all about my engagement. I have badly hurt him - at least, if my previous suspicions about him had any sort of foundation, then I imagine I have hurt him grievously. It may be that I was completely mistaken in that presumption, of course; but I know my own heart, and I thought I knew his. Indeed, I have been entertaining the hope that I _did_ know his, and that his love would induce him to fight for me, to save me from my fate. Now it would seem he cares nothing for me at all, and this only increases my pain. But I would rather have him alive and free and hating me than hanged by his neck for a murder he didn't commit.


	9. Wedding Belle

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to loyal reader and fellow writer Crystal Nox, who borrowed Elizabeth for a few segments in her songfic "Fiction Unleashed." Thanks for the compliment. :)

* * *

_6 May 1900_

Ghastly proceedings, these. I've just returned from St. Michael's church with my "betrothed," where he engaged the services of Reverend Miller. Also, Sunday night there's to be some sort of formal engagement dinner downstairs, in the hotel's main dining room. Several of the town's more important personages are expected to come and dine with my friends and me.

* * *

_7 May 1900_

Tom is growing suspicious, not least of my apparent lack of knowledge or concern for Rodney's injured feelings. (If he only knew.) More than once he attempted to draw me into private conversation this afternoon, but we were constantly interrupted. I am grateful for the suspicion, as it may lead to a happier result than what presently lies in view, but I am fearful that my tongue may slip and bring about the fulfillment of Everett's menace.

My thoughts are constantly in the past. I may drive myself mad before this is all over, but I keep recollecting many memories of the last several months. How many times he placed himself in mortal danger to protect me...how he makes me laugh...the careless affection and bluff kindnesses I have known from him...the many times we have sat, deep in conversation or in companionable silence. I want to weep, and frequently do. Quite apart from all the fear and anxiety, I miss Rodney terribly. I feel like part of myself has gone away and may never return, even when he is only across the room.

* * *

_8 May 1900_

I have just finished having my dress altered. It is pretty enough for the purpose: a simple gown of white muslin, with lace trimmings and pearl beading on the sleeves and neckline. I will wear a hat covered in silk roses, to which a short veil is attached. (Were this really my wedding, and I cared for such things, I would have orange blossoms on my hair as is the custom; but I see no need to go to such expense for this pantomime.) The dress and hat constitute my "something new;" for "something old" I have my mother's pearl necklace; Mina is lending me a pair of gloves for "something borrowed;" and my "something blue" is a sapphire brooch, my birthstone. I will not have a lucky sixpence in my shoe, as tradition dictates, but this parody of a marriage has nothing to commend it to luck.

When I am not out dealing with the details of the wedding, I spend a great deal of time shut in my room. It is far easier this way; if I am not facing my friends, then I do not have to lie to them. I cry a great deal, and when I am not weeping, I try to distract myself in reading. I am rather enjoying _Nicholas Nickleby_ - as much, at least, as I can enjoy anything just now. I have found a passage in the book which I consider very relevant to my current situation, and how I keep sending my mind to dwell in the past:

"...If our affections are tried, our affections are our consolation and comfort, and memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better."

* * *

_later_

Tom finally managed to get me alone in my room.

"What is going on, Elizabeth?" he demanded. "I don't understand what's happening, but I'll be damned if I let you go on without an explanation."

I could feel tears already pricking at my eyes, so I turned away from him. "What do you mean, Tom?" I asked in the most falsely cheerful voice I have ever used. "Don't I appear radiantly happy about my wedding? Don't you know how ecstatic I am?" I knew he was bound to catch the sarcasm, and he did not disappoint me.

"I'll tell you what I know," he said hotly. "I know you don't love Ben Everett. You lo-"

"Please, Tom! Do you think I need you to tell me what is in my own heart?" Tom is very dear to me, but at that moment I wished he were a bit less privy to my inner thoughts.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you? If there's something not right here, tell me - we'll fix it."

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"I promise you, I can't. I would, if I could - oh, don't make me say anymore!"

He paused, and regarded me thoughtfully. "Well, if you won't talk to me...and I know you aren't talking to Skinner...wait here. I'll be back soon."

He returned in a quarter of an hour with his friend Becky. "You two girls sit here and hash things out," he said. "I'll make sure you're not disturbed." He closed the door.

I looked at Becky. She looked at me.

"Elizabeth?" she asked finally.

"Becky...oh, I have to tell someone," I cried. "I'm going mad. Please, I know that what I'm about to say is going to sound ridiculous, but please believe that every word of it is true." For the next twenty minutes or so I poured my heart out to this virtual stranger, one of the very townspeople Everett swore would never believe my allegations.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said when I'd finished. "That horrible man! What are you going to do?"

I wiped my eyes on a handkerchief. "There's nothing I can do, I'm afraid. You mustn't say a word either. If Everett finds out that I told anyone, he'll make good on his threat. He's dangerous."

"I believe that," she said slowly. "All the more reason you can't possibly marry him."

"What choice do I have?" I asked plaintively.

* * *

_9 May 1900_

The wretched engagement dinner is now over, and I don't mean to record a single detail of the festivities. I want to remember nothing of the events leading up to tomorrow's ceremony. But tonight was significant nonetheless, for my situation grows ever worse.

Everett intimated, during our last meeting, that I am not showing him nearly enough public affection to make the engagement believable. So at this horrible dinner, I presented him with a pair of cufflinks. "They were my father's," I told him, "and I want you to have them. You can wear them tomorrow for the wedding." I have no real attachment to the cufflinks; they were a gift to Father from his first wife, Harry's mother.

The dinner seemed to drag on endlessly. It was made that much more miserable for me by one conspicuous absence - Rodney was nowhere to be found. Indeed, from the remarks made by the other League members, he had not been seen for several hours.

After the majority of the guests had left, Everett whisked me off to the back parlour where he first "proposed." I had little desire to be left alone with him, and in fact, for the first time, we actually _were_ alone; he brought none of his men with him to stand guard.

"Who's going to disturb us?" he asked when I wondered about the absence of his friends. "Besides, they have other things to do, which I will explain shortly. For now, though, come here."

To my complete revulsion, he made to put his arms around me. I backed away. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"We are engaged, you know. Society allows us a few liberties."

"You will take no such liberties with me, sir! There is a limit to how much I will participate in this charade!"

He glared at me. "I'll let that slide for tonight. Tomorrow night had better be a different story. But just to be sure of your _complete_ devotion to me, I've taken some additional precautions." That eerie smile was back on his face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your friend, Mr. Skinner...I don't trust him, dearest. He's entirely too fond of you, he's likely to make a scene at the wedding. Therefore, I decided he had better not come."

I could already tell something very bad was coming. "What have you done with him?"

He smiled mirthlessly. "He's been taken out of the way so our wedding doesn't get interrupted by any objections."

"Where is he?"

"Shush, pet, he's fine. But if you want him to stay that way, you'd better start playing the game." His eyes were hard. "Those old abandoned mine shafts are dangerous places, you know. It doesn't take much to make them collapse, and they will _never_ find him. So if you want him to see the light of day on Wednesday, you'd better have a good wedding tomorrow - and a good wedding night." His meaning was unmistakable.

"You are a monster, Ben Everett," I whispered.

"Such endearments won't save your unnatural friend, my love. The cufflinks were a nice touch, though, very good." He pulled them from his pocket and examined them critically. "Yes, very nice indeed. So for that, I'll let the monster comment go." He pocketed the cufflinks again. "Well, enough chitchat. You've got to get plenty of beauty sleep so you're all set for tomorrow."

I came back here as soon as I was decently able, and allowed myself a good cry. As if all of this weren't hard enough! Now he's being held a prisoner! I can't even bear to think about it. I can only pray for his safe return, for I do not trust Everett to bring him back even after the wedding night.

I must make some sort of attempt to sleep, for tomorrow - who knows what tomorrow will bring? This may well be my last night as an unmarried maid, in which case I can but say...God preserve me.

God preserve us both.


	10. The Blackmailed Bride

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** I hope you don't hate me too much. This chapter is dedicated to Minion #3, Mazikeen, with thanks.

* * *

_10 May 1900_

The "happy hour" draws very near. I am all dressed, except for my hat and veil, and am awaiting the coach which is to take Mina, Nemo and myself to the church.

Tom was not at breakfast, nor was Henry. Mina says Tom is ill, that he had too much to drink last night, and Henry is staying home from the wedding as well to look after him. I hope it is nothing more serious than that; my nerves are already frayed by my anxiety over Rodney.

* * *

_11 May 1900_

My wedding day was a very long day; it is now nearly two in the morning. In many ways it was longer than I realized, and I am only now getting the chance to put it all to paper. I find I'm still quite dazed by all which has transpired, so this diary entry may not be terribly sensible to me when I read it in the future. In order for me to keep the events chronological for my own understanding, it is necessary to jump between what I was doing at a moment and what was happening elsewhere at the same time. My poor friends had to tell me the story numerous times before I could fully comprehend everything which occurred; even now it all seems thoroughly unreal. I think I finally understand, however, so I will attempt to record it all.

We arrived at the church precisely on time. Mina made her apologies to Everett for Henry and Tom's absences; he seemed largely unconcerned, though he went through the motions of saying he hoped Tom would recover in time for the wedding banquet to follow the ceremony. I removed my gloves and handed them and my small bouquet to Mina, and the wedding began.

* * *

Unbeknownst to me, the League members had held a conference last night while I was trying to sleep. Becky, while not completely betraying my confidence, had hinted to Tom that things were going very ill with me. So when Everett and I were closeted in the back parlour, he took advantage of the absence of bodyguards to eavesdrop at the keyhole, and he heard everything.

"Well, no wonder the poor girl looks as though she's lost her best friend," said Henry, once Tom had related all he had heard. "If she says a word to anyone, she will."

"That - " Tom called Everett a word I shall decline to record, though I agree with the sentiment. "He's making her miserable. If Skinner were here, Everett wouldn't be breathing."

"We must find him," said Nemo, gravely. "He may be injured. The danger to his life may be greater than we realize."

"Trouble is, I think the only time we can do it without attracting Everett's notice is during the wedding itself," said Tom. "Nemo and Mina, you have to be there with Elizabeth. It's going to be real obvious if none of us go to the wedding, and you two are supposed to be in the ceremony. Henry, it'll be up to me and Hyde to get him out of that shaft."

Nemo offered to send some of his men to assist them, but they decided against it. "Nobody knows where he is, so he's probably not real heavily guarded," Tom reasoned. "And a crowd leaving town would attract someone's attention. It'll go easier with just us two."

The coach picked us up at half past twelve, and as soon as it had rolled away, the rescue party sprang into action.

Henry and Tom borrowed a pair of horses from the hotel stable and rode out of town. "Do you know where we're going?" Henry called.

"Not exactly," Tom shouted, "but there aren't very many mine shafts around here, and a couple of them are still in use. I only know of two which could be considered abandoned. I haven't been through these woods in a long time, but I think I remember where they are."

"I hope you're right!"

* * *

Reverend Miller welcomed those in attendance to the wedding - almost the entire town showed up to witness the marriage of their deputy mayor - and then began the service by leading us all in prayer. He read several Bible passages regarding the issues of love, marriage, and fidelity. I felt very uneasy, and almost ill with fear. I could hear my blood pulsing in my ears; I half-wondered if I might faint, and in fact almost hoped I would for the delay it would cause.

When asked, Nemo said that he was the one giving me in marriage to Everett. He gave my hand a friendly squeeze before placing it in Everett's, then stepped back and took a seat in the front pew; Becky was seated in the pew behind him, the only other person I felt was there for my benefit. In my somewhat bemused state, I noticed that Everett was wearing Father's cufflinks. It did not improve my disposition.

* * *

Henry and Tom galloped full-tilt along the riverbank, about a mile outside of town. "I think we're getting close," Tom called. "I remember fishing in this area with Huck, and -"

His horse screamed and bucked as a gunshot hit the ground.

* * *

Reverend Miller is an elderly gentleman, slightly doddery if I can write frankly. He spoke very slowly and deliberately as he delivered the wedding sermon, almost in a monotone. Twice, I think he nearly fell asleep standing in the pulpit.

Once he finished the speech, Everett and I moved forward to the kneeler to receive a blessing. Candles were lit. I clasped my hands and gazed up at the image of Christ; in my mind, I begged Him to keep Rodney alive and return him safely to us.

* * *

"Tom, watch out!" Henry yelled as another gunshot rent the air. They reined in sharply and looked around. No one was in sight, but there was a visible path branching off into the trees.

While Tom tethered the mounts to a low branch, Henry swallowed his formula and wrenched off his tie. Yet another shot was fired as Edward began to emerge.

"He's not trying to kill us," growled the half-Henry, half-Edward voice. "He's just trying to scare us. He'd better try harder."

When Edward had fully taken form, and Tom had his Winchester rifle at the ready, they began stalking into the forest toward the source of the gunfire.

* * *

"Have you the ring?"

Everett's best man - whoever he was - pulled a small gold hoop from one pocket and passed it to the minister. This too was blessed, then Everett took it and pushed it onto my left hand. I stared at it; I was that much closer to being married.

"Do you, Benjamin Franklin Everett, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to honour, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, from this day forward until you are parted by death?"

"I do."

* * *

There were, in fact, three guards hiding in the trees near the mine shaft. All were armed, and taking turns shooting at Tom and Edward.

"I'm an officer of the United States government!" shouted Tom. "Don't make this any harder on yourselves than it has to be!"

"Get out of it, Sawyer, and take your monkey with you," called one of the men. "We have our orders to keep everyone away from the shaft."

"Oh, you're acting on orders, are you? Under orders to guard the hostage in the mine?" Tom squinted at the men and saw the startled glances they exchanged. "Yeah, I know all about it, so just give yourselves up!"

This was answered with yet another gunshot.

"Enough words," Edward grumbled. He began to advance on the nearest guard, who raised his rifle defiantly. Quite calmly, Edward reached out and jerked the gun from his grip, then bent it cleanly in half.

"Anyone else want to play?" he asked.

* * *

"And do you, Elizabeth Grace Quatermain, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to honour, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, from this day forward until you are parted by death?"

I noticed that this sentence seemed to take Reverend Miller about five minutes to say in its entirety, he spoke so slowly.

"I...I..."

Everett raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"I..."

"I think she's a little nervous, Reverend," he said politely. He drew me a step away from the minister and hissed, "I can send one of my men to kill him right this minute. Remember that."

I glanced at the 'groom's side' of the church, where indeed, a pair of burly men seemed to be sitting for the express purpose of reminding me of what was hanging over my head. Fearful, I swallowed and nodded.

"That's my girl," he said in a normal voice as we stepped back. "Go on, dearest."

* * *

With the surrendered guards tied securely to trees, they next turned their attention to finding Skinner. The entrance to the mine was not big enough for Edward, so it was Tom who had to climb the ladder down into the blackness. Only the faintest beam of light shone down the ladder from the daylight above. "Skinner!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Skinner, where are you?"

"T...Tom?"

The voice was weak and confused, as though the speaker thought he was hallucinating. Tom moved in the direction from which it came. "Keep talking, Skinner, so I can find you."

"I'm here...over here...is it really you, Tom?"

"Yes, it's me. Hyde and I are here to get you out."

"Oh, good. I'm interested to know if my eyes still work." The voice was getting a bit stronger. Rodney was lying in a corner some twelve yards from the ladder. He reached out to grip Tom's ankle.

"Can you stand? Are you hurt?" Tom asked, pulling Skinner to his feet.

"I'm not hurt...but that bastard Everett told whoever's outside to shoot me if I came out. Couldn't even go out invisible because I'm filthy with coal dust - probably why he decided to throw me in here."

"But you're all right?"

"I've got a pounding headache, but otherwise, yeah, I'm fine."

They emerged into blazing sunshine, which hurt Rodney's eyes; his customary dark glasses had been broken. Edward gave him a grin. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Henry says."

"Lovely to see you too." Skinner brushed futilely at his leather coat, trying to beat off some of the dirt. The white greasepaint on his face was smeared with black. "How much time do we have? Can we stop the wedding?"

"We don't have much time, but we can still make it. You know Everett's forcing her?"

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"Basically, if she didn't marry him, he was gonna kill you. He's up to something...I don't know all the details myself just yet, but we've got to get back to town fast."

"I'll kill the bastard. Where are the horses?"

* * *

"I need to sit down," I said, very quietly.

"Are you ill, my dear?" asked Reverend Miller.

"Nervous, that's all, I'm sure," said Everett. He still held my hand, and he squeezed it painfully to make his point.

"Please, I feel very dizzy." I really did.

"Sit down, my child, we're in no rush." The preacher guided me over to a seat on the front pew next to Nemo, and sent Everett to get me a glass of water. Mina came to sit on my other side.

"Nice stall," she whispered.

"Forget stalling, I think I'm going to faint. I can't do this, Mina, I just can't."

"You can, and you will, for as long as you have to. Everything is going to be _fine_," she said emphatically. Leaning forward, she breathed in my ear, "They've gone to find him."

I looked at her, startled. She gave me one of her enigmatic little smiles as Everett returned with the water. I sipped it, shaking and breathing deeply. I believed her, of course, but would they find him in time? Or was he already...?

* * *

The horses tore back up the riverbank, Edward very nearly keeping pace with them. A mile on horseback is not too far, but the journey still takes time. And time, as Tom had said, was running short.

"My formula's nearly done," Edward shouted. Skinner and Tom brought their weary mounts to an abrupt halt while the transformation completed itself. Henry, garments torn and breathing heavily, climbed up behind Tom on his horse.

"You all right?" Tom asked over his shoulder.

"Fine! Let's just go!"

* * *

"I'm all right now," I said, handing the glass to the minister and standing up again. "I'm sorry for the disruption, let's continue."

"We can't have you being ill on the happiest day of your life, now, can we?" He gave me a very kind smile and reopened his Bible. "Where were we...oh, yes..." He coughed. "Do you, Elizabeth Grace Quatermain, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to honour, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, from this day forward until you are parted by death?"

I took a deep breath. _Forgive me,_ I thought.

"I...I do."


	11. The Blackmailed Bride, part two

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** Those of you who were not sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for this to be updated back when it was first posted may be amused when I tell you what happened. At the time that this was a new story, FFN suffered a hardware crash, and the entire site was in read-only mode for a full week. So the previous chapter was where the story stagnated, quite against my will. At the time I joked, "Please call off the hired assassins," but I was genuinely taken aback by the...vehemence...of some of the emails I received.

This chapter is dedicated to Bamfwriter (author of the hysterical "Just the Best Mary Sue Ever!").

* * *

_11 May 1900_  
_later_

I was interrupted just then by knocking on my door. It was kindly Mrs. Singer, who had seen that my light was on and wanted to be sure that I was all right. I assured her that I was fine and merely unable to sleep, and she went on her way. Now I can resume telling the story of the most wretched bride St. Petersburg has ever seen.

* * *

"Let me off at the hotel," Henry shouted to Tom, "and then get over to the church. I'll catch up as soon as I can."

Tom reined to a halt in front of the hotel, and Henry dismounted, but Skinner kept right on going. The others stared after him. "I hope he knows what he's doing," said Henry.

For the first time all day, Tom grinned. "Somehow," he said, "I think he knows exactly what he's doing." With a shake of the reins, he took off down the street.

* * *

"If there be anyone here," said Reverend Miller in his slow, patient voice, "who has just cause why these two should not be joined, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

I listened intently, but all I could hear was the sound of my own strained breathing. No hoofbeats. No voices. Nothing.

Nemo coughed.

"Yes, my son?" asked the minister.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just clearing my throat," he replied. "Forgive me for the interruption." Someone snickered; I think it was Mina. Everett looked annoyed.

"If there are no objections..." the preacher began.

The door of the church creaked open, and we all turned.

It was Tom. "Sorry to interrupt, Reverend," he said, sidling in, "but I wanted to come and see what I could, now that I'm not feeling too sick anymore."

He made his way up the aisle to sit beside Becky. I watched him intently, trying to understand what was going on, but his face was impassive. Not even a wink. Instead, he asked, "Could you repeat whatever part you just said?"

I turned back to the minister, who appeared confused. He glanced at me, and I nodded; anything to hold off the inevitable moment of pronouncement. "Oh, very well," he said. "Ahem. If there be anyone here who has just cause why these two should not be joined, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

"I believe that's my cue," called a voice from the open doorway. "I've got a few objections!"

I have never heard anything in my entire life that was more beautiful and welcome than that voice at that exact moment. Whirling around, I stared at the man striding toward the altar.

"Rodney!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Everett make a move to grab me, but I was faster. I picked up my skirts and ran down the aisle to meet him halfway. He caught me gently, his hands on my shoulders.

"You all right, Bessie?" he asked.

"I am _now_."

My wedding ended in complete pandemonium.

* * *

_12 May 1900_

Things have been busy since the wedding.

After Rodney's dramatic entrance, Tom placed Everett under arrest. Yesterday, he and his accomplices were brought before the magistrate, and we levelled formal charges of abduction, extortion, and coercion. I can scarcely wonder at the poor magistrate's bewilderment, for it was a tale the like of which I'm sure no one has ever heard before. One thing which was of incalculable assistance was that Tom Sawyer gave testimony in the matter, and after all that he has done, in this town, his word is practically law. Everett and his accomplices have been sentenced to more than ten years at the state prison, and will be transferred there from the local jail in the coming week.

The town newspaper has also run a full account of the whole story, which means that we have become nearly celebrities. This is rather annoying. It was somewhat entertaining at first, but now I really would just rather be left alone with my family. It seems an age since I danced so blithely at the party, even though I know it was less than a fortnight ago.

I sold my engagement and wedding rings back to the town jeweller, and got a much better price for them than I might otherwise have done because they come with such an unusual provenance. The magistrate has assured me that, as the ceremony was disrupted before any pronouncements were made or any documents signed, my "marriage" is not legally binding. Of even greater significance to me, the minister has likewise assured me that I am not bound to Everett in the eyes of the church, as I was acting against my own will. I am entirely free of the matter. Out of gratitude for this and, more importantly, for Rodney's safe return, I have given the money from the ring sales to the church.

As for Rodney, he is better. A hot bath, a meal, and a drink or two of Scotch seem to have set him almost completely right again. At dinner the night of the wedding, we all traded stories until everyone knew everything. Becky dined with us, and I was able to thank her for all of her help.

"One thing I don't get, Skinner," said Tom. "When we got you out of the mine, you already seemed to know some of what was going on. How did you know?"

"Had a little, ah, run-in with Everett on Sunday afternoon," he replied, swallowing his food. "Out back. We had words...knew there was something funny about all this, Bess wasn't herself. So I tried to find out what he was really up to. He basically told me the marriage was a means to an end, and then he had his men throw me in the mine."

I then explained Everett's plan to the group in full. "He really had me - what's that expression, Tom? Over a barrel?" He nodded. "I didn't know what to do. Nothing seemed like the right answer. All I could do was agree to his terms and pray. He was so dangerous when he told me what he wanted...and he already seemed to know, even before I told him, that you wouldn't permit his going with us otherwise, Nemo."

"He was right," said Nemo. "It is not my habit to allow strangers to board my lady. But in the role of your husband, he would of course have been accepted among our company. Who knows what sort of mischief he could have done?"

"I'd say he did enough without ever leaving port," said Tom ruefully. "If I'd known how much trouble coming back here would cause, I never would have suggested it."

"Don't blame yourself, Tom," said Skinner. "I know I've had fun, apart from the trip down the mine. Actually sort of enjoyed interrupting that wedding." He lifted his glass in my direction.

"Another few minutes and you would have been too late," I said. "So thank you all for that. I didn't want to marry him - I swear to you I didn't - but I felt like I had no choice." Very softly, I added, "It was like shooting de Gaulle all over again. Oh, I'm so sorry for all of this. I do seem to be more trouble than I'm worth, don't I?"

"Yeah," said Tom, "but we love you anyway." He gave me a conspiratorial wink.

"Cheers, Tommy," I said, lifting my own glass.

* * *

_14 May 1900_

My world has changed, though with or without me I could not say.

Rodney is altogether different since his time in the shaft. He seems quite usual in most respects; it is only with regard to me that he has changed. For a long time now, I have taken comfort in knowing that if I had need of him, he was there. But since the wedding, I can count on one hand the number of times we have been in the same room, other than for meals. I think we simply do not know what to say to one another.

I am heartened by the knowledge that he really did confront Everett, as I'd hoped all along he might. But without knowing what was really said, I do not know why exactly he did that. Was he just being my "invisible shield" again? Or can I dare to hope that he wanted to stop the wedding so he wouldn't lose me? I don't know what to think.

We are preparing to leave St. Petersburg. I think the townspeople are sorry, for they had at least hoped Tom would remain, but he insists his place is with us. He explains this to them by saying that, as an agent of the government travelling with the League, he is protecting American interests abroad.

I am grateful that he will be coming back to the ship with us, for it means that I have at least one friend with whom I know where I stand. It's somewhat amusing, really, for initially, I was attracted to Tom and considered Skinner to be like my brother. Now it is Tom who has become my brother in all but blood, surrogate son of my father.

The Jekylls are contemplating returning to England, to establish a life there together. It will be a sad loss to our company indeed, for never yet have we been thus parted. They do not plan to leave us, however, before they have completed their work on Rodney's antidote, and this they mean to resume as soon as we have returned to the _Nautilus_. Our train back to the coast leaves on Monday.


	12. Home Again

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**

by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This regrettably short chapter is dedicated to a whole bunch of my readers: LotRSeer, Steffi-333, Cecily Marla Smith, Ana Denali, and Katie - all with thanks, heaps and heaps.

* * *

_16 May 1900_

Today there was a great farewell banquet in the town square - mainly for Tom, but also for the rest of us. Capping the festivities was the arrival of the United States marshals who are escorting Everett and his men to the state prison to serve their terms; they had not heard the complete story of what these men had done, so we were entreated to tell the tale one more time. I hope it will be the last time, for I am heartily sick of the whole affair.

Rodney and I have still not spoken. I hesitate to go to him, not only for reasons of propriety but also because I am embarrassed. Once again, his life was nearly forfeited on my account - and I believe that Everett might have left him in the mine shaft to rot, with or without my cooperation.

As to why he does not come and speak to me, I can only guess. Perhaps he is angry with me about what's happened, though he did not seem to be when he came to the church. Perhaps he is distressed, as Tom was, by the fact that I was going through with a marriage to a man for whom I have no love. Or perhaps he is, as I am, uncertain where the recent events have left us. Our bond, heretofore as unshakable as it was indefinable, seems to have changed.

I wish there were some way I could let him know that, if I had the power to rewrite the events of that day, I would put Everett in his place at the bottom of the mine shaft. I would have a far more suitable bridegroom, the one of my own choosing, if I could but make that switch.

* * *

_18 May 1900_

We are on the train heading east, back to the state of Virginia to rendezvous with the _Nautilus_. America is incredibly beautiful, and most of the time I have spent here has been splendid, but I am nevertheless ready to go. I should like to return sometime, however, to see more of it.

I think I have lost something infinitely precious to me - if it ever was mine to begin with, that is. I thought, for a time, that it was. Now I believe I may have been very wrong. I am sick from the loss, and have not the heart to write further.

* * *

_19 May 1900_

More of the same. Lovely scenery. Still no real conversation. The men are passing the trip by playing cards. Mina reads. I brood.

* * *

_20 May 1900_

It is late, and we are back aboard the ship we all consider home. I was so relieved to be in my own quarters again that I almost wept.

I may do that anyway, for I am no nearer a resolution to my difficulties than I was five days ago. I shall leave my unpacking until tomorrow; for now, I think a hot bath and some tea will help me sleep. Perhaps asleep, in my own bed, I can forget.

* * *

_21 May 1900_

Have spent much of the day puttering with my herbs and indulging in relatively pointless needlework. In other words, I have been putting my hands to use in the sort of mindless occupation which filled my long, lonely hours at Solomon Manor.

Henry and Mina have resumed their task of analysing the information Dr. Draper sent them, and using it to formulate an antidote for Skinner. When we left the ship for our American visit, they believed they were getting close. As to Rodney himself, I do not know where he is; I have not seen him all day, though I suppose he is with them.

I did go to the library for a time and attempt to read, which did not go well. It seemed that every book I opened reminded me of...things. Fortunately, Tom came in and invited me to play a game of chess with Nemo's wonderful ebony and ivory chess set, and this was distracting.

I was studying the board, deep in thought about something other than my concerns for the first time in days, when he spoke up. "So what's going on with you and Skinner?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Used to be I couldn't trip over one of you without crashing into the other. But now you two are a bit like strangers."

I sighed. "I feel like we're strangers. But I don't know why."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"No...check. No, I haven't. I really don't know what to say. 'Thanks for stopping my wedding, sorry you could have been killed'?"

He shifted one of his pawns to block my assault. "You should have seen him when we got him out of the mine," he remarked in an excessively casual voice. "Hadn't eaten or drunk for hours, probably didn't sleep much. But all he cared about was getting to you, stopping that wedding."

"Yes, well, he's always looked out for me. You all have."

"So what's changed with you two? Check."

"I really haven't figured it out." I captured his attacking bishop with my queen. "Goodness knows I've tried...I've had little else on my mind lately, if you want to know the truth."

"Yeah, we kind of noticed you've been preoccupied. I thought that might be it." He picked up his knight and began to place it on one square, then changed his mind and set it on another. A playful expression darted over his face, and he added, "Your father probably wouldn't approve."

"He - of what?"

For the first time since the conversation started, he met my eyes. "I know you better than you think I do, li'l sis. And I've a pretty good idea what's going on in that head of yours."

Trying very hard not to admit to anything, I teased him. "In London society, Mr. Sawyer, you would be considered brash and extremely forward for these remarks." I slid a rook across the board.

"Hang society. We both know what's happening here. I was in the church that day, remember? I saw your face when he walked in." He grinned. "Checkmate."

He had me, I could see it. "Very well," I said, surveying the board with dismay. "I concede the game."

* * *

_25 May 1900_

Even sleep does not help, as I am finding out more and more often. Lately, whenever I fall asleep I have different versions of the same dream - Rodney comes and tells me what I so desperately need to hear. The dreams are so real that I believe in them. Then I awaken, and realise that I still don't know if he loves me or not.

He is my friend. He does care for me, is still kind to me in a distracted way. Perhaps this is all it will ever be.

* * *

_27 May 1900_

It's nearly a week since last I wrote, but there has been nothing worth mentioning of late. The situation has not changed.

Well, that's not entirely true. I was in the library again yesterday, and he came in. I looked up from my book just in time to see him leaving again, so I called him back.

"Er," I began intelligently. "Skinner...might I have a word with you?"

He hesitated for just a heartbeat. "Sure, Bess." I took the fact that he called me by the pet name as a good sign.

"How are you feeling?" I inquired, for lack of a better opening.

"Oh, I'm all right." He sat down in a chair near the door.

"How, er, are they coming with the antidote?"

"They think they're closing in on it."

"Are you really going to take it?" I blurted.

He frowned slightly. "Wasn't sure for awhile," he admitted. "But yeah, I think I will. It'll make shaving easier." He rubbed his chin.

"I imagine that's true." Daring more than I intended, I said, "I admit I'm curious to see what you look like."

He shrugged. "Nothing special. Well, I'd better get back. See you at dinner?"

"Oh...right. Of course."

He did grin at me, for which I was grateful, before leaving the room. But I still feel like a coward.


	13. Seeing

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** Another somewhat short chapter, this is dedicated to my dear friend Ella, because she understands better than anyone why Elizabeth reacts the way she does to Skinner. ;)

* * *

_30 May 1900_

They've done it. They've formulated the antidote.

I can't begin to understand how it was accomplished. I'm sure it makes perfect sense to Mina and Henry, and probably to Nemo also. For my part, it's just another amazing incident in what seems an endless supply of amazing incidents with the League.

I was in my room, transferring a rosemary plant to a bigger pot, when Tom came and knocked. I bade him enter, and he opened the door, looking animated. "They did it, Elizabeth! Skinner's got his antidote, he's going to be visible!"

I very nearly dropped the pot at this extraordinary pronouncement. "When...?"

"Just this morning. They made some of the original formula, and tested them together" (I do not want to know who, or what, was the subject of that test) "and it works. He's getting ready to take it now You've got to come and see!" He moved toward the door, then glanced back. "You coming?"

Well, of course, I assured him that I wouldn't want to miss this, and promised that I would join him in the Jekylls' laboratory as soon as I put away my apron and washed my hands. If he noticed that I was trembling, he didn't say anything.

It was almost ten minutes before I had collected my wits sufficiently to go up to the lab. As I approached, I could hear voices gabbling excitedly.

"This is so strange!"

"It's a real triumph."

"It's weird to see you with hair!" That was Tom.

I almost turned and ran, in truth; I was shaking. I don't quite know, even now, why I was so agitated, but I felt nervous - like I was meeting him, my own dearest companion, for the first time. It was very odd. Then I heard his voice asking, "So, what do you think?"

A bit more chatter, and then Mina said something that stopped me dead in my tracks. "I don't know why you're asking us what _we_ think. The person whose opinion you want isn't here." Her voice was light, and sounded deeply amused.

"Yeah, where is she?" Tom again. "She said she was coming."

By this point I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. Somehow I managed to get control of myself, and I reached out to knock on the laboratory door. It opened almost at once to reveal Henry.

"Ah, speak of the devil - come in, Elizabeth. See what you think of this." He stepped back and waved me into the room. The small crowd that was Mina, Tom and Nemo parted, and suddenly I found myself looking, for the first time ever, at Rodney Skinner.

I was, of course, already somewhat accustomed to his facial features - the shape of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and so forth - but only when coated in a veneer of greasepaint. It was extremely strange to be looking at the same features without the make-up. His is a long face, with high cheekbones and forehead and a determined chin. He is fully as tall as Henry, though built like Tom, muscled and broad of shoulder, where Henry is very slim. His wavy hair is a deep ginger colour, and his eyes are powerfully blue.

I said the first thing that came to mind, which was, "You have hair." What a startlingly brilliant observation, Elizabeth!

"Yeah, I stopped shaving my head a couple weeks ago." He ran his fingers through it distractedly, his eyes still on my face. I was actually looking into his eyes - real eyes, not blank spaces in a white mask. I could not read his expression; on the other hand, I was not entirely focused on the attempt. I was somewhat diverted by the fact that I thought him alarmingly attractive. I hoped no one else could hear how ragged my breathing had become, or see that I was still trembling.

"So?" Mina prompted. "What do you think?"

How does one answer such a question truthfully and yet without completely humiliating oneself? I settled for "Very nice," while at the same time wondering which shade of red I was turning. He has a very intense gaze - mesmerizing, to be honest.

Skinner crossed the room and looked into the mirror on the wall. He seemed utterly bewildered, as though unable to believe what he was seeing. (I could relate.) "You know, I'd forgotten what colour my eyes were," he murmured. He turned away from his reflection to look at Henry and Mina. "Really, you two...thanks. Thanks a lot. I haven't seen this bloke in years, I feel like I need to get reacquainted or something." He nodded toward his reflection.

"If you're satisfied, then so are we," Henry replied, putting an arm around his wife. "It was hard work, but it was worth it."

Tom was openly grinning. "I just can't get used to this," he said. He turned to me. "You should have seen the transformation, Elizabeth. It was something else. It was like he grew a body from the inside out, layer by layer. Bones, then blood vessels, and so on."

"I think I'm glad I missed that," I said faintly. "It sounds rather disturbing."

Nemo was heading for the door. "I will ask the cook to make something special for dinner," he said. "We should celebrate." As the others resumed talking, I also slipped out of the room, and followed him down the hall.

"Something troubles you, Elizabeth?"

"Yes...no...I really don't know."

He eyed me shrewdly as we walked. "Mr. Skinner was, I think, particularly anxious to know your opinion on his visibility."

"I told him some time ago that if it made him happy, that was good enough for me. He seems to be happy, so I'm happy for him."

"Ah," he said, in the tone of one who knows more than they are saying. "Well, I'm sure that will make things easier."

I didn't really know what he meant, and I decided not to ask.

* * *

_2 June 1900_

It's a bit disconcerting to actually _see_ Rodney walking around. An enjoyable sight, I confess, but still strange.

I had thought, perhaps, he would talk to me more now that all this has happened. But we're still doing little more than exchanging pleasantries or passing dishes at mealtimes; he seems a bit distracted, actually. Once we met in the hallway last evening, and he said (almost shyly, which is so unlike him), "So, you think it's all right then?"

I think it's more than all right, but I didn't tell him that. Instead, I said, "It's still you either way, so as long as you're pleased with it, that's good enough for me." That was an incredibly stupid thing to say, I think, but it's what came out of my mouth. He looked a little disappointed, and I wished I could take it back and say something more positive. All I meant was that he's still my dear Skinner, visible or not, but it came out sounding terribly foolish.


	14. Believing

**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America**  
by Lady Norbert

**A/N:** This final chapter dedication goes out to "the League" - you know who you are - with thanks and affection from your own Nemo.

* * *

_5 June 1900_

It's very early, a little way past one in the morning. The world has turned completely upside down.

Yesterday was another day of the same awkwardness between myself and Rodney. I've grown quite used to walking around with a dull ache in my heart, and I was beginning to accept that things would never be the same between us again. Our friendship was intact, but it was not nearly as warm or comfortable as it has always been, and I missed the closeness terribly.

Then, last evening, I was sitting here in my quarters, reading. It was fairly early, around eight I believe; dinner was over and I was just relaxing, trying not to think. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and I glanced up; I almost dropped my book in surprise when Rodney entered. His hands were in his pockets and he looked somewhat uneasy. "'Lo, Bess."

"Hello." I felt thoroughly mystified. "What, er, what brings you here this evening?"

"I...I need to talk to you." He was pacing a bit, not looking at me.

"What's the matter?"

"I...oi, where do I begin? I need to talk to you about Everett."

I groaned slightly, and put down my book. "Must we discuss him? I'd like to forget he even exists."

"Not a bad idea," he said, sounding a bit more like himself. "But you remember my telling you I confronted him the day of the engagement dinner?"

"And that's when his men threw you in the mine. Yes, I remember."

"Right. Well, see...I knew something was wrong. You just weren't the same bonny Bessie you were before the engagement. So I wanted to know what was really happening, and why he was really marrying you when you obviously didn't want to marry him."

"I see. What did he say?"

"I won't repeat it. Not very nice stuff; almost broke his nose, to be honest. I knew he didn't love you, and he proved it."

"I'm aware he didn't love me. What of it?"

"Well, I just...I need to know, for sure...did you love him?"

My eyebrows nearly flew off my face, they rose so quickly. "Did I...Rodney, are you mad? Of course I didn't love him!"

"You were going to marry him." He leaned against the wall near the herbarium, arms folded.

"I told you why I was going to marry him! I didn't want to, believe me - I just thought it was the only way."

"I just needed to be sure, that's all. Couldn't have you pining for that bastard, now, could I?" He gave me, for the first time in a long time, the old grin. Then it faded, and he said, "But you liked him."

"Liked him, yes. For a time." I rose and crossed to the herbarium, straightening rows of pots. "He was...charming. He flattered me. I'm not used to receiving so much attention, it was nice."

"What are you on about, not used to getting attention?" He sounded nettled.

"I'm sorry, that didn't sound right. I'm just not accustomed to men falling all over themselves because of me. Mina might be used to that sort of thing, but I'm certainly not." I chuckled. "I've always been a sparrow in a world full of peacocks."

"I like sparrows."

He said it so softly. I turned to look at him, and that bright blue gaze cut straight to the heart of me.

"How did you know, anyway?" I asked. "He had that entire town fooled. How in the world did you know he didn't love me?"

"That was easy."

"But you were the only one who knew!"

"So?" Our voices were starting to rise.

"So tell me how."

"You mean you don't know?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't be asking!"

"I never thought for a second that he loved you."

"Why?" We were nearly shouting now.

"It was obvious!"

"Only to you! How did you know what no one else knew?"

"Because _I_ love you! You think I can't tell the difference?"

We both froze.

"What did you say?" I asked him.

"Did I say that out loud?" He looked thunderstruck.

"You did. But - but I don't believe you." I turned away from him. "I'm not falling for this again."

"Again?"

"Every time we have this conversation, it always turns out that I'm dreaming. I can't go through it another time."

"Wait...you've dreamed about this?" I could _hear_ him smiling.

"My heart breaks every morning when I wake up. No, no more."

He chuckled and put his hand on my arm, gently turning me to face him. "You know," he said, "Everett said something else to me that I never forgot. He said, 'This isn't a fairy tale, Mr. Skinner. The princess isn't going to kiss you and turn you into a prince.' Well, I figure, if you're dreaming, that's _exactly_ what should happen."

With these words, he caught me about the waist and kissed me.

I was so shocked that, for a second or two, I couldn't even respond. Then, almost of their own accord, my hands stole up to twine themselves in his hair. Something hot was rushing through my veins, and seemed to pass from me into Rodney and back again, until I no longer knew for certain where he ended and I began.

I'm not sure how long we stood there - a brief eternity - before he finally pulled away a bit. We were both a little short of breath, and his eyes were shining. "I don't feel any different," he said teasingly.

"You don't look any different, either."

"I think, my Bess, that you really are awake."

"Oh, thank God." I very much wanted to cry, but at the same time I felt as I had after the ball - utterly luminous with joy. He wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," he muttered.

* * *

_Here ends this stage of Miss Elizabeth Quatermain's adventures with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.  
Look for still more chaos and catastrophe in Volume V, "Tartan Holiday," coming soon._


	15. The Volume IV FAQ

_**The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, volume IV: Author's Notes and Acknowledgements **_

Once again, I feel compelled to explain myself.

* * *

**About this whole sordid plot**

_Was Skinner really sleeping in chapter one?  
How did Elizabeth get back to her room when she fell asleep in the library?  
Why was Skinner so nervous a few days before the ball?  
Where did Skinner go the morning after the ball?  
What happened when Skinner confronted Everett?  
Why did Skinner avoid Elizabeth for so long after the wedding?  
What finally prompted Skinner to go and talk to Elizabeth?_

All of these questions, and more, will be answered when I release the companion volume from Skinner's point of view. You can expect to start seeing it within a week of this FAQ being posted.

_Is March 21st really Tom Sawyer's birthday?_

I found no references to Tom observing his birthday in any of the three Sawyer novels. Since I really wanted the League to celebrate his birthday as they did Elizabeth's and Skinner's, I invented a date. The first day of spring, as Elizabeth notes, seems entirely appropriate for our optimistic American.

_What's this about the Prince of Wales being shot at in Belgium?_

That really happened on April 5, 1900. England's heir to the throne, Prince Albert Edward ("Bertie") was visiting Brussels and was the target of a failed assassination attempt. When I looked up events which took place that month, that jumped out at me as something that Elizabeth, being a loyal daughter of the empire, would have noted as soon as she became aware of it.

_Why does Tom trace the letter V on his face when he's thinking? _

Ask Mark Twain. That's something he mentions in _Tom Sawyer, Detective_ - in fact, it's a fairly important plot point in that story. I thought it was an endearing little trait, and as Elizabeth is so fond of Tom, it seemed like the sort of thing she would notice.

_So Elizabeth starts out not liking Everett...but then she does like him? Explain this?_

Bear in mind that Elizabeth is rather young, and quite inexperienced with men. Apart from the business with Robert Stuart a couple years ago, the chief man in her life has been the invisible one, and he's really the only person from whom she's accustomed to receiving so much undivided attention. So initially, Mr. Everett unnerved her, but after she got a bit used to him, she found the attention flattering. (Which she wouldn't have, if she'd known its real purpose.)

_Tom didn't have a brother, Sid was his cousin and he would have considered Huck to be his brother._

This comment is taken directly from a review, and I include it here to point out that it's wrong. Sidney Sawyer was Tom Sawyer's younger half-brother. As proof, I offer the following quote from _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_; if you don't believe Mark Twain, then I really can't help you. This is from the very first chapter of the novel:

~Tom's younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy, and had no adventurous, troublesome ways.~

_If the League disliked Everett so much, why didn't they keep her away from him?_

They did make more of an effort to do so than Elizabeth knew (as you'll see in Skinner's version). But she is an adult, and Nemo is only a father figure to her, not any kind of formally appointed guardian. Yes, the League is Elizabeth's family, but they felt awkward attempting to interfere with something that was more or less making her happy.

_Why did Elizabeth give in to Everett, instead of raising the alarm with the League?_

To put it succinctly, sheer terror. He was enough of an authority figure in St. Petersburg that he very possibly could have done exactly what he said he would do, and the lives he was threatening were those of the two people she loves most. It seemed safest to err on the side of caution.

_Why did you split the wedding between two chapters, instead of putting it all into one?_

Tension. Or, to put it another way, because I'm evil and wanted you to think the wrong thing. "Writers are liars," as Neil Gaiman says in _Sandman_.

_Where did you get your description for Skinner after he turned visible?_

Well, back when I was writing the first volume in the series, it dawned on me that I might do that at some point. As I have all the other characters in the League looking like their film counterparts, it made sense to do the same with Skinner. But I had no idea what Tony Curran looked like, so I did a websearch for pictures. After sifting through about a dozen pictures of him as Skinner, I found my first shot of the real person. (Incidentally, Elizabeth's reaction to seeing him for the first time is an exaggerated version of my own.) So that picture became the basis for my description of visible!Skinner.

_What can we expect from the Skinner version of this story?_

I'm going to assume that this is your way of asking for teasers. Among the highlights, you'll get Skinner's thoughts during his arrest and jail stay, a lot of "sage advice" from Tom Sawyer, an attempt on Everett's life, and the heartbroken ramblings of a very, very inebriated invisible man.

_Why the dedications on each chapter?_

Just saying thank you to some particular individuals who have helped, inspired, or encouraged me along the way. This series wouldn't be what it is without a lot of input from others. And it saved me the trouble of putting another big, long thank-you paragraph at the end of this FAQ.

_Is volume five really going to be the last volume?_

Volume five will be, without question, the last Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain. I'm going to miss her.

* * *

**Credits, thanks, and all that jazz**

The basic premise of this story series is based upon the film _The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_, released in theaters July 11, 2003. The film in turn was based on the series of graphic novels of the same name by Alan Moore. In a general sort of way, everything you read in this series is the property of the much more clever people who were involved in those two projects, and I made absolutely no financial profit from the use thereof. The stories in this series were written out of affection and appreciation for the original works on which they were based.

The characters of Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde are from _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ by Robert Louis Stevenson.

The character of Wilhelmina Harker is from _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker.

The character of Allan Quatermain is from _King Solomon's Mines, Allan Quatermain, The Ivory Child_, and other stories and novels by H. Rider Haggard.

The character of Captain Nemo and his amazing _Nautilus_ are from _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ by Jules Verne.

The character of Rodney Skinner is patterned, loosely, after the original Invisible Man, from the book _The Invisible Man_ by H. G. Wells. Personally, I prefer Skinner's company, but that's just me.

The character of Tom "Special Agent" Sawyer is from _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Tom Sawyer Abroad, _and_ Tom Sawyer, Detective,_ all by Mark Twain.

_A Tale of Two Cities_ is by Charles Dickens. Sydney Carton is the down-and-out anti-hero who makes great sacrifices for the woman he loves. _Nicholas Nickleby_ is also by Dickens, and to be honest, I've never read it; I found the quote Elizabeth mentions in her diary and thought it was too appropriate not to use.

_Sense and Sensibility_ is a novel by Jane Austen, and a film starring Emma Thompson. Elinor and Marianne Dashwood and Colonel Brandon are among the principal characters, Elinor being the protagonist.

The only things to which I can lay legitimate claim are the personality of Elizabeth (who says that she is perfectly capable of owning that herself, thank you very much) and a number of other original characters, including Ben Everett.

Thanks, as always, to all of my readers and reviewers. One person who did not get a chapter dedication, and who deserves more credit than I can give him, is my husband Kevin. A lot of men might not appreciate their wives doing something as all-consuming as this project has turned out to be, but he takes it very much in stride. He even feeds me at the computer when I'm in the middle of a brainstorm.

Do be sure to check out Skinner's version of events. Then you'll know what was happening when Elizabeth wasn't around to observe. Thanks for everything, and as always - cheers, my freaky darlings!

_Lady Norbert_


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